How We Operate
by missBAMF
Summary: To ensure Jim's continued Captaincy, Spock sacrifices something on a diplomatic away mission that has devastating consequences for him. Despite his growing problems, Spock continues to hide what was done to him, even at the price of his relationship with Jim as well as the crew; and even at the price of himself. K/S slash, major angst, major hurt.
1. Altriri IV

**A.N. Hello everyone! This fic is actually in response to a request someone made of me, and you know who you are ;). Basically, this person wanted to see a story where Spock, instead of Kirk, has something detrimental happen to him on a diplomatic mission that ultimately ends up hurting him, yet he hides it from Kirk and crew, which ends up having negative consequences on both of the boys. Essentially, this plot has been done before, twice that I know of, but it's always been Kirk as the focus; and in this story, Spock will be the focus. This story is pre-STID. I wanted to write right at the point in Kirk and Spock's relationship where they are still trying to understand one another, yet are friends. Much like what we saw before Into Darkness. **

**Most of this is written. I'm just editing it as I go along, and I mainly wanted to start posting it for those of you who have read my Perdition Series: Closing Walls and Ticking Clocks Part 1, and are anxiously awaiting part 2. This fic hopefully can help tide you over while you are waiting? I AM writing part 2 of perdition for those that want to know, though I do like to have quite a bit written before posting because of the way I edit things. Sometimes ideas come later on to me in the writing process, and if I've already started posting, I can't go back and change it. Hence why I haven't started posting part 2 yet. However, hopefully this will satisfy your craving while you are waiting! **

**There are no warnings for this chapter other than language. However…we are going to get into some graphic territory later on, though it won't be anywhere near as numerous as my other fic. But for those of you who have read my other work, you know how detailed and graphic I can be. I don't hold back anything in my writing, I am very detailed in everything. But…I WILL place proper warnings for those chapters when they come. **

**How We Operate**

**Arc 1 **

**Chapter 1:**

**Altriri IV**

**Stardate 2259.30**

Spock watched impassively from the corner of the expansive, shimmering room whilst specifically chosen members of the Enterprise crew mingled with those of the Altririan High Council. Specifically, he was watching his Captain, _Jim_, as he conversed with Qu'ale, the Altririan Ambassador of Altriri IV. His captain's pale, slightly pink skin was a stark contrast to the golden skin of the Altririan, and while Jim was not by human standards considered a _short_ man, in comparison to the seven foot tall Ambassador, he was.

Spock could easily discern from the perspiration gathering on Jim's forehead, as well as his upper lip, that the captain was beginning to grow exhausted. It was apparent that he; Spock; was not doing his job to an acceptable degree.

Concentrating harder, Spock's eyebrows wrinkled, and his eyes narrowed slightly with the effort of endeavoring to shield Jim's mind more effectively, but that task was easier said than done. Having to mentally shield _one _individual from the peculiar empathic gifts of the Altririans was difficult. However, trying to do the same thing for the rest of the crewmembers in the room simultaneously made it that much more taxing. The sharp throbbing of a migraine currently pulsating in his right temple was evidence enough to that.

"How's it going, Spock?" Nyota probed gently as she came to stand beside him, a brightly colored beverage in her hand. Being the Chief Communications Officer, her presence at these _talks_ was pivotal, and she would not have wasted her valuable time to approach him and ask him such a question unless she deemed it necessary.

Apparently, his distress by this entire situation was more noticeable than he had first ascertained.

Then again, Nyota could always read him extremely well despite being human. Her abilities of perception played a large factor in the termination of their romantic relationship six months prior, though the pair had still managed to maintain a valuable friendship.

"It is becoming difficult. It would not be wise to continue these talks much longer," Spock answered intricately, never taking his eyes off of the captain who had just finished laughing at something the Ambassador had said.

Beside him, Nyota sighed in agreement. "I don't think I've ever felt so drained in my life," she replied tiredly. Spock took his gaze off of Jim and his worldly smile to regard her; she did indeed look pale, and her eyes held a fatiguing quality to them. It was obvious to Spock given these factors that she was compromised. It seemed it was time to go.

"Lieutenant, you will gather Lt. Boden and Lt. Anders, and beam back up to the ship, I will follow you shortly with the captain," he stated professionally.

Nyota frowned, "Spock, you sure you don't want to check with Kirk first? You know how much he wanted to get this squared away today…"

"I am certain, Lieutenant," Spock interrupted right as his migraine stabbed at him sharply, almost making him wince. "I do not wish to further compromise the crew, and I assuredly believe that Ji—_the Captain_, would agree with me on this matter."

Nyota continued to stare at him evenly for five point three more seconds before she nodded, and waltzed back out into the bright, ornately decorated room that was now starting to hurt Spock's eyes just by the sheer contrast of it. The Altririans definitely had a preference for an atmosphere consisting of an array of bronze, gold, copper, and silver colored décor. Spock surmised the Terran term for such a decorating scheme would be; _Gaudy_.

When she approached Lt. Boden, and leaned into the science officer's ear, his captain took notice, and regarded Nyota with bemused thoughtfulness as she continued conversing with the rest of the away team; no doubt relaying Spock's orders. Once Anders had joined them, the three bid farewells to the other Altririans, and beamed out ten seconds later. Spock watched as Jim narrowed his eyes while the Transporter lights whisked them away. Once they were out of sight, those same blue eyes shot over to meet his own, where they instantly transformed into a glare. Spock decided that this would be as good a moment as any to make his approach.

Hands firmly clasped behind his back, he strolled gracefully over to Jim, ignoring the sharp pang in his head with every step, until he was standing across from him and beside the Ambassador.

Jim's glare had narrowed considerably with every closing step, and he could feel the annoyance radiating off the man by the time he had completed the distance. Ambassador Qu'ale, Spock noted, leaned in toward the captain upon the emergence of such strong emotions, no doubt unconsciously attempting to _feed _off of them; for there was no other term for what the Altririans were naturally capable of, and that was gaining a positive influence from the emotions of others; negative or positive. Spock had never encountered an alien species with empathic powers such as what the Altririans were capable of, and he hoped that at the conclusion of the mission, he would not have to undergo another one anytime soon.

"Captain, I think it would be wise to return to the ship. You require rest. Your exposure to this environment where your emotions are constantly taxed by outside forces is starting to become detrimental to your health," Spock informed him stoically, ignoring the way Qu'ale scoffed at him. He was apparently offended with his choice of phrasing.

Jim rolled his eyes, and Spock assumed, suppressed a groan as well. "I appreciate your concern, Commander Spock, but I'm fine. I don't need rest…" he asserted, and waved his hand at Spock dismissively before he looked back to the Ambassador in an attempt to continue their conversation.

Spock stood up straighter, and tightened the hands behind his back just as the golden-bronze skinned Ambassador opened his mouth to speak.

"Captain," Spock interrupted, causing both of them to pause and stare at him again. "I must insist that you return with me to the ship. I cannot continue shielding you adequately, and as we have already been present on this planet for six point three hours, we have more than surpassed the allotted timeframe I have set forth by…"

Jim groaned loudly and ran a hand through his hair; an expression of irritation, though Spock reminded himself not to take offense. His captain's emotionalism could easily be tied back to the planet's empathic affect on them. Spock had learned that the longer his human counterparts were down on Altriri IV, the more irritable and expressive they became; which was all the more reason why Spock needed Jim to understand why they needed to return to the ship.

"Okay, _okay _Spock! I get it!" Jim shouted in annoyance. "Just give me a second here!" he further exclaimed in an exasperated tone.

Spock shifted his gaze from Kirk to the Ambassador, who was regarding the scene enviously; or perhaps, enjoying the sheer anger being exhibited by Jim; for where he once was annoyed, he had now grown slightly vexed in the space of less than a minute.

Not wishing to provide anymore rampant emotions for the Altririan to feed off of, Spock decided not to push the matter further for Jim's sake. At least the rest of the crew had already beamed back, which made Jim the only other person Spock had to concern himself with. He could continue shielding for just a bit longer. It would be difficult, but it was more than possible.

"Very well, Captain," Spock agreed with a slight bow of his head. "I shall be waiting over here, but please, I must insist that you make haste," Spock replied evenly as he narrowed his eyes just a fraction at the Ambassador, and turned to retreat to the far side of the room.

"Sorry about that, Ambassador. My First Officer sometimes gets a little paranoid…" Spock heard Jim explain while he walked away. The Vulcan assumed he had forgotten how keen his ears were compared to humans.

"There is no need to apologize, Captain. It is I who should be making the apologies; it is regretful that our empathic abilities have such an effect on your crew. I wish there was some way we could neutralize this issue," Ambassador Qu'ale added genuinely.

"_Pssssh,_ it's not too bad…"

Fortunately Spock had walked out of hearing distance before he could hear the rest of Jim's statement. Not that bad? Sometimes, Spock was baffled at his captain's innate ability to underestimate the severity of a situation.

Once he was standing back over in the corner, Spock permitted himself to place a hand delicately on his forehead to quell the sharp pains his migraine had brought on. It had not been this severe the first time they had beamed down to Altriri IV to open diplomatic talks with the planet. Nor had it been this severe the second, third, and fourth time. However, going on the fifth visit now, it was starting to grow unbearable.

Spock had not expected it to be so difficult in convincing the Altririans to join the Federation. If he had known, he would have spent more time meditating. However, no one other than him really knew or understood just how severely the Altririan people affected him, and Spock was inclined to keep it that way. At the end of the day, he was the only one on the ship capable of protecting the away team from the alien's empathic influence; which had been a large factor in why the Enterprise was selected for such a mission in the first place. He _was_ the only Vulcan in Starfleet after all.

Despite his numerous recommendations to postpone the talks to a later date upon every visit planetside; Spock wanted nothing more than to see them come to an end just as much as Jim did. Not only was Altriri IV a difficult environment to inhabit due to the native's mental prowess; but the planet itself lingered just on the Federation border next to the Romulan Neutral Zone; a dangerous place to be considering the destruction of Vulcan barely a year ago.

However, if Starfleet Command had been clear about anything, it had been to '_get Altriri IV to accept the invitation extended to them to join the Federation at all costs_,' and it seemed that Jim was endeavoring to do just that, even at the risk of his mental health.

"They're still waiting for me to screw up, Spock. They still don't think I can handle the captaincy, even though I've been doing it for a year now!" Jim had confided in him over a game of chess. They had just beamed down to the planet for the first time, and experienced just how fatiguing the Altririans could be. The chess game had been desired by both of them as a form of relaxation after the trying experience, and aside from meditation, Spock had found engaging in chess with the Captain to be…quite soothing to his mind.

"If they did not think you could handle being the Captain of the Enterprise, you would not be, Jim, and they would not have entrusted this mission to you," Spock had attempted to reassure him.

Jim had smiled at him in response, which made Spock illogically warm.

"Thanks Spock, it's good to know that at least you're on my side," he had answered sincerely before adding in a mischievous tone, "well, some of the time anyway."

Spock, who had been mid-move, had paused to stare at the human intently; wanting to be sure he got his point across in his next statement. "I am your First Officer, Jim. I am always on _your side_, and I would never serve under a Captain who I believed could not handle their duties aboard a Starship. You are an exceptional Captain, and human being," Spock had answered confidently, which had made Jim instantly regard him with a strange expression that Spock had not been able to interpret.

Garnering no response, Spock had wondered if he'd said something wrong. He was not accustomed to having what humans referred to as _friends_; therefore, he was unsure of what would qualify as an appropriate discussion between friends. Aside from Nyota, Spock could count on one hand how many individuals he considered friends, and even that consisted of only three fingers.

Looking at Jim then, Spock knew he would like to call him a friend. Whether or not Jim returned that sentiment, Spock had not known, and still did not know. What he _had_ known was how different his opinion of the enigmatic young man in front of him had been a year ago as opposed to what it was now in the midst of the Enterprise's two-year mission.

When he had first agreed to become the First Officer on the Enterprise at the encouragement of his older counterpart, Spock had had his doubts about whether or not he had made to correct decision in deciding to serve under _Kirk_. The man was arrogant, egotistical, brash, impulsive, and temperamental. Not to mention, extremely illogical. Spock could not fathom what his older self had ever seen in him to cause him to regard _Kirk_ so highly.

However, after almost a year in space, Spock had started to form a _different_ opinion of his Captain. It seemed that the more missions they undertook, the more that _Kirk's_ impulsive, illogical methods seemed to make surprisingly logical sense; for they always produced a positive outcome with minimal damages or casualties. Spock once had assumed that _Kirk_ was unbelievably arrogant, and overly-confident in his performance. However, on the chance that Spock had seen a flaw in the captain's plan and had pointed it out, _Kirk_ had always taken the requisite time to consider Spock's advice, and to his surprise, would find some way to implement said advice into his master plan the majority of the time.

It seemed that despite their differences in the way they would each command a Starship; when they worked together, Spock and who the Vulcan had come to refer to as _Jim_ had proved to be a formidable team. As the year had gone by, Spock's uneasiness and doubt for the captain had transpired into respect and loyalty, and a deep sense of belonging that he could not explain or make sense of.

They still had their moments however, where neither of them could agree on a course of action; and this diplomatic mission to Altriri IV had contained a fair amount of them almost every step of the way.

The main disagreement he and the captain shared was the decision for Jim to carry out the talks in person versus over subspace, like Spock had recommended. If the Vulcan had had it his way, Jim, Nyota, and the rest of the away team would never have beamed down in the first place. They would have remained up on the ship, and Spock would have gone down alone to speak for the Captain. He was after all a Vulcan, and able to shield himself more effectively against the empathic gifts of the Altririans. It seemed the most logical decision.

Jim would not be bent though.

"I'm going down there, Spock. I have to show Command I can do this. The last two planets we extended invitations to were failures. I can't walk away empty-handed this time," Jim had explained to him desperately right before the third trip down to the planet; which had been cut short yet again before anything meaningful could get done.

"May I remind you, Captain, that the declination of those invitations for membership into the Federation were more than likely due to the recent destruction of Vulcan, and the near destruction of Earth?" Spock had sought to remind him. "Vulcan had been a considerable influence in the Federation; and given that New Vulcan is still in the process of rebuilding an entire civilization, and therefore has little time for political affairs, many of the prospective planets are wary of joining at this time. It does not reflect on your diplomatic skills, nor on you as a Captain," Spock had finished firmly, and he had been telling the truth. After Nero, many planets who had once sought to join the Federation withdrew their requests. If Vulcan; the strongest and most influential member of the Federation could be destroyed so easily, then what did that say about the remaining members? How safe would they be?

Still, despite Spock's endeavor to instill confidence in Kirk, the captain had ignored his advice and continued to beam down again and again. Spock who given his diplomatic background; what with having an Ambassador as a father; had consistently been forced to stand on the sidelines in order to shield the rest of the crew. None of the Altririans spoke to him, and he did not instigate conversation with them. His focus was the crew and the captain, and fortunately the Altririans had for the most part been immensely understanding of this.

With one exception, and that was S'teth, the High Priest of Altriri IV. He seemed to take every open opportunity to engage Spock in conversation, despite his request to be left alone in order to perform his duties to the best of his ability.

Such was the case now, as Spock waited for Jim to finish conversing with Qu'ale.

"My, my, Commander Spock. You are looking quite pale this evening, are you _feeling_ alright?" Priest S'teth commented in a heavily accented voice as he came to stand beside the Vulcan, and mimicked his stance by putting his large, golden hands behind his ornately robed back. The Altririans, again, were already marginally taller than humans and Vulcans; but S'teth stood at seven point five feet, which was much taller than most of his people in the room; even by Altriri standards.

"I am Vulcan, Priest S'teth. I do not _feel," _Spock replied thinly, not bothering to break his gaze off of Jim. Constantly this alien attempted to engage Spock with small talk, and it had grown to become an annoyance.

To Spock's disdain, S'teth snorted in amusement and leaned in toward him ever so slightly, inhaling deeply as he did so. Spock repressed a shudder at the action, and glanced at the Priest with inclined eyebrows. The fact that S'teth had just done such a thing was a bit surprising, given the report he had read prior to coming to Altriri IV. To inhale another's scent; or _emotions_ in this case; was considered an offense without gaining prior permission. Given that these were diplomatic negotiations, Spock was taken aback that S'teth would attempt to do such a thing right out in the open. However, for Jim's sake, and sake of this mission, he did not protest the action.

S'teth smiled largely at him. "Your…_emotions_ are more difficult to sense, Commander," he started, a mischevious glint in his bronze speckled eyes. "But I can assure you, they are there. You might fool the Council, and your comrades, but you do not fool me. There is a reason why I am the High Priest of Altriri…" the alien let his voice trail off while he leaned his broad, expansive body in yet again, and inhaled deeply.

This time, Spock felt a slight tug on his shields, as though an outside force was trying to gain entrance. Immediately, the Vulcan clamped down on them in order to push the intruding force out; and the action caused his migraine to protest sharply.

Spock took two seconds to compose himself before looking at S'teth sharply. "I must request that you cease your actions, Priest S'teth. They are offensive," Spock stated firmly, and stepped away from the male. He did not wish to be rude, but he would not allow this alien to compromise his shields, which would consequently compromise his endeavor to shield the captain. He suddenly was extremely impatient to get back to the ship and away from this alien.

S'teth made no move to follow his retreat, and instead placed his hands up in mock-surrender. "My sincere apologies, Commander. Sometimes I find I cannot help myself, I have never seen a Vulcan before, and your exotic qualities are appealing to me," he paused and let his eyes roam over Spock hungrily. Spock repressed another shudder at the uncomfortable scrutiny. "Perhaps before your ship leaves, you and I may become better acquainted?"

Spock instantly canted his head at S'teth, and his mouth dropped open in surprise at the alien's proposition and just what becoming _better acquainted _would entail. Surely the alien had not just…

"Spock, you ready to go?" Jim cut in at that moment, effectively causing both Spock's and S'teth's heads to spin back around to face him. Spock expected Jim to be looking at him, but he was instead fixing the alien beside Spock with a bemused expression, almost as if the alien made him uneasy. In fact, Spock could feel through his captain's mental aura that S'teth _did_ make Jim feel uneasy.

Of course, Spock could be mistaking his own unease for Jim's.

Then again, if S'teth made _Spock_ uneasy, which the Vulcan was ashamed to admit; then it was only logical to assume that he would also have a similar effect on the captain.

"I am prepared to depart, Captain," Spock answered impassively, completely ignoring S'teth's lingering gaze which had shifted back to him.

"Priest…S'teth?" Jim probed as he attempted to recall the alien's name.

S'teth narrowed his eyes slightly, obviously annoyed by something, before nodding in the affirmative.

"I regret that we have to cut this meeting short again, but rest assured I will make arrangements to continue these talks as soon as my team has gotten a chance to rest," Jim informed the High Priest, and Spock suspected he only did so to draw the alien's attention onto himself instead of Spock; for there was no logical reason to inform the High Priest of these intentions. He was merely there as a spectator; an influential advisor to the High Council. Though how influential he was, Spock was starting to wonder.

From the reports, Altriri IV's Government was a typical Oligarchy; meaning that the decisions regarding the planet rested with the council members currently inhabiting the room. However, the more meetings Spock attended, the more he was starting to question where the actual power lay, because it seemed that Priest S'teth held quite a bit of it given his interactions with the rest of his people. They all seemed to look to him for advice or direction on a vast array of issues.

"Of course Captain Kirk," S'teth answered sweetly, though Spock could see through the farce tone. "Once again, we apologize for the discomfort our empathy causes you, it pains me that it is not something we can control," he finished, but his tone was neither sincere nor apologetic.

"Right," Jim started awkwardly before looking to Spock, "well, Spock?" he invited indifferently as he gazed back at the Vulcan. "Let's get out of here."

((oOo))

Once they had arrived back on the ship, Spock almost groaned in relief as the constant pressure he had become accustomed to feeling on the planet immediately ceased. His migraine still lingered, but already it was starting to recede. His relief was short-lived however when Jim rounded to face him, eyes blazing. Obviously, the captain was still irritated with him despite being off the planet.

"What the hell, Spock? I thought I told you I wanted to _end_ this today? I thought we had an agreement?" Jim questioned heatedly, making the ensign manning the controls blush with chagrin, and avert his gaze to anywhere that wasn't the two officers standing and bickering on the pad.

Spock blinked at him, and squared his shoulders. "Captain, I am aware of our agreement, but I could no longer shield you or the rest of the away team adequately," Spock explained, trying hard to keep his own irritation out of his voice. If the captain had not extended the stay one point three hours over the allotted time frame Spock had given him; his shields would not have weakened as they had.

Then again, if he had been a full Vulcan, his shields would not be so weak to begin with.

"I don't give a shit if you couldn't _shield_ me, surely going an hour or two without your precious shields wouldn't have been that detrimental, would it?"

"As I have never interacted with this race before our time here, I cannot give you a conclusive answer. However, judging by the rampant emotionalism you are now exhibiting toward me, it is logical to conclude that they have effected you more than you would like to admit, Captain," Spock responded curtly and repressed the urge to glare. What he wanted more than anything at that moment was to return to his quarters and meditate. To undo the damage that being on such a planet did to him.

Jim stared at him with narrowed eyes. Spock knew that stare; it meant that whatever response he had rendered was not to the captain's satisfaction.

"Perhaps if you would allow me to return to the planet by myself, I can continue the talks in your place, and you can monitor them via sub-space…"

A heavy sigh cut Spock off, and Jim rubbed at his eyes in exasperation. "Dammit Spock, not this again! You're not going down there without me!" he paused and glanced around at the other officers in the room. "I'm the Captain of this ship. I need to be down there," the human replied in a much softer tone, but the firmness was still there.

"That is incorrect, Captain. Your physical presence is not required. The Altririans would undoubtedly understand why it is difficult for you to remain on their planet, and would accept sub-space communication as a logical alternative to…"

"They're not _Vulcans_, Spock. Need I remind you how important getting this planet to join the Federation is? By not going down there myself, I risk offending them. You've read the damn reports! You know they prefer to do their business in person," Jim attempted further, his voice growing more annoyed again by the second.

"Which is why I offer myself to stand in your place. The Altririans do not affect me as they do you. As the First Officer of this vessel, I am more than qualified to…"

"That's what this is about, isn't it," Jim cut him off quietly, and the way he stated it was more accusing than a question.

Spock was momentarily taken a back. "I do not understand," he finally managed.

"You just want to take control of this, don't you? You think I'm going to screw it up, and so you're trying to take over. That's why you keep offering to go in my place, so you can do it all by yourself."

Spock's eyebrows rose exponentially at the accusation. "Captain…" Spock paused and permitted his eyes to close briefly. "_Jim, _it is not my intention to _take control. _I am merely attempting to assist you in carrying out this diplomatic mission in the least trying way possible, something you clearly are not endeavoring to do."

Jim glared at him, and crossed his arms. Spock's migraine, which had been dissipating, was slowly starting to gain momentum again.

"You can phrase it however you want, Spock. But I know better. Our last two diplomatic missions failed because of me, and you're trying to make sure I don't screw it up a third time so you can save face in front of the Admiralty, and write in your little reports how Jimmy Kirk couldn't cut it…again," Jim hissed.

Spock wished he could sigh, he wished he could permit himself just that small amount of emotional expression at the illogical accusation.

"Jim…"

"_Captain, _Spock. We're on duty," Jim cut in icily, and Spock actually winced at the inflection in his tone. Jim had never cared before when Spock chose to refer to him by his first name; in fact, he had always encouraged it whether they were on duty or not. The fact that he was correcting him was unsettling to Spock.

"My apologies, _Captain_," Spock replied evenly, his stance becoming more rigid, more closed off. He had thought they had moved passed this. He had been so sure that Jim no longer assumed Spock was always trying to undermine his authority on the ship. He had even taken comfort in the fact that Jim had started to consider him a friend, despite his constant assurances that Vulcans did not _have_ friends. Apparently, he had been in error when making those conclusions. The Captain clearly still did not trust him, and if he did not trust him, then how could he call him a friend? Suddenly, the sense of belonging he had come to feel on board the Enterprise did not feel so authentic anymore.

"I will retire to my quarters to meditate in preparation for our next beam down. Please inform me when you require my presence in the transporter room," Spock said quietly, and as impassively as possible. He did not look Jim in the eyes as he spoke, and instead, focused on a nonexistent point on the wall behind him. He was afraid that by looking directly at Jim, the aching feeling beginning to take root in his side would show, and betray the sudden feeling of _hurt_ uncoiling there.

Jim didn't answer him, but that was all the answer Spock needed, and he wasted no time in turning to walk away before his emotions got the better of him. As he walked, he could feel the captain's eyes trailing after him as he exited the room. Spock resisted the urge to look back.

((oOo))

"What's wrong with you?" Bones asked from across the table in the mess hall where Kirk was currently seated, prodding at his mostly uneaten meal.

"Nothing, Bones," he answered morosely and continued to gaze at his tray blankly.

"Bullshit, Jim. You looked like someone kicked your puppy, what's wrong? You and the hobgoblin get into another fight?"

Kirk looked up sharply, but didn't say anything. That was answer enough, apparently.

"Uh-huh, thought so," Bones deadpanned.

Kirk sighed and brought his hands down onto the table in exasperation. "It's been a year, Bones! A _year, _and he still doesn't trust me to command this ship."

"You talkin' about his insistence that you not go down to that planet? Because, I hate to say it Jimbo, believe me, I _really _do, but I agree with him," Bones paused and considered something, "and don't you dare tell him I said that," he finished.

Kirk glared at him. "Why does nobody think I can do this!"

Bones scowled and put down his sandwich none to gracefully. "It's not that we don't think you can do this, Jim. It's the fact that those…" he paused and gesticulated with his hands, "those _aliens_ down there seem to be no better than vampires! Only, they suck out your emotions rather than blood! The anti-depressants I've had to dish out here lately? Especially to Uhura? It's no wonder Spock doesn't want you down there!"

"Spock doesn't want me down there because he thinks I can't do it," Kirk corrected him bitterly. "I thought we had passed this bullshit. After a whole fucking year, I thought he finally trusted me," he went on, his eyes averting back to his tray. He didn't want to admit how much not having the Vulcan's trust hurt him. Much more than he would've anticipated. In fact, it was borderline disturbing how much he wanted Spock to trust him.

"Jim, as much I think Spock is the biggest control freak out there, I really don't think that's the reason…"

"Oh? Because you know him so well…" Kirk started sarcastically.

Bones huffed in annoyance and leaned in toward him, imploring him to listen. "You're right; I don't claim to know the hobgoblin half as well as you do. You're the one that spends all your personal time with him, not me. All those supposed _chess games?_" Bones paused as Kirk glared at him, but didn't give him the chance to say anything. "But I know him well enough to be pretty damn sure he's not trying to undermine your authority, and take control of your command. Spock seems content doing what he's doing."

Jim sighed heavily and clenched his fists. "I told him how important it was that I see this mission succeed, and that the Admiral _knows _it was me. You have no idea the pressure Marcus is putting on me to get this godforsaken planet into the Federation."

"I'd think the big-ass Dilithium deposit would have something to do with it…" Bones supplied knowingly; hitting at least one nail on the head. For that was a reason. Being so close to the Neutral Zone, Starfleet was under the notion that if they didn't get to Altriri IV first, the Romulans would.

Despite being in Federation Space, Kirk knew the Romulans would get to them one way or another. Especially if they opened trade with them, and the Romulans could be…very influential in the powers of persuasion.

The other reason though, was the rapid decrease in Federation members. After the destruction of Vulcan barely a year ago, more and more planets were withdrawing membership. They questioned how safe the Federation really was if they couldn't even protect their most influential and powerful planet. Most planets had joined for a sense of protection, and the promise of a golden age. With Vulcan wiped out, and one of the Federation's leading races facing extinction, and only barely able to make ends meet as civilization, that _protection_ wasn't what it used to be.

As he sat there staring down at his tray of uneaten food, Kirk's mind supplied Marcus' last conversation with him clearly.

"Listen, Kirk. The Altririans have a lot of potential as a civilization. We _need_ them to join. We've got to get our numbers back up before the Federation completely falls apart," Admiral Marcus, the current Head of Starfleet, had reiterated to him over and over again prior to this mission. "We're watching you, Kirk. Your last two diplomatic missions failed, you can't afford a third failure."

Kirk could recognize a threat when he saw one, and Marcus had been threatening him. There had been no doubt about it.

"Why he wants Altriri IV doesn't matter, Bones. What matters is that I'm _this_ close to a demotion, and Spock isn't helping things by trying to take the reins. If Marcus reads in my reports that my First Officer constantly has to take over for me, he'll make Spock the Captain, and send me packing."

Bones fixed him with an even stare. "Jim, do you honestly think Spock wants the captain's chair? He's just trying to help. He _is_ the son of a diplomat, isn't he? Perhaps you should just heed his advice. Besides, shouldn't the success of this mission outweigh how you look in front of the Admiralty?"

The question caught him off guard, and for a moment, Kirk was struck speechless. Bones was right of course. _Fuck it_ if he wasn't right. He sighed heavily and buried his face into his hands.

It might make him look bad if Marcus read in the reports that Spock handled most of the negotiations because he obviously couldn't handle it, but it would look even worse if they failed a third time because he hadn't listened to his First Officer. At the end of the day, he had to do what was best for the mission, and obviously it wasn't Kirk. It was Spock that was best for the mission. Kirk couldn't endure more than three hours on that planet without feeling completely and emotionally wiped out afterward, which, he hated to admit, _did_ affect his game a bit. Spock had promised him that the Altririans didn't have that effect on him because he was Vulcan, and could block them out or some shit; which meant he would be able to stay longer and actually participate in the talks without having to constantly shield everyone from their soul sucking empathic abilities.

Would it really be so bad for Jim to participate over sub-space? Surely the Altririans would understand if he explained things; if he explained why it was so difficult being in their presence.

Perhaps Spock _had been_ right. But that didn't mean Kirk couldn't still be mad at him. The Vulcan had still doubted him, and that had hurt; more deeply than he cared to admit. Over these past several months he'd come to care about Spock, in some ways to a higher degree than he was comfortable admitting. He'd come to value his opinion above all others, and to know that he didn't believe in him made him feel hollow, and he honestly didn't know how to feel about that. No one had had that power over Kirk in a _long_, long time.

It bothered Kirk that Spock could get under his skin like that, that he _did_ have that power.

But then again, maybe Bones was right? Maybe Spock was really just worried about him, and this was his way of showing it? There were still a lot of things he didn't know about Spock. Granted, the more time they spent together off duty, the easier it had gotten to _read_ the Vulcan, but he was still a complete mystery at times. A puzzle to be solved.

Good thing Kirk liked puzzles.

"Perhaps you're right, Bones," he started as he straightened back up in his seat. "This mission is more important than my image, and if Spock's the better guy for the job, who am I to stand in his way?"

"I don't know if he sees it like that, Jim, but I know that if you keep going down to that planet, even my anti-depressants won't be able to bring you back. Their power…it's disturbing," Bones said darkly before adding, "I'm surprised Spock isn't affected."

Kirk peered up at him knowingly. "I think Spock might be being evasive in that department. He seems to have a hard time shielding everyone including himself, so I know they affect him on some level," he mused just before he forced himself to take a bite out of his replicated roast; which tasted like utter dirt. Spock had allowed him to sample his plomeek soup last week, which surprisingly, had tasted pretty good. He should have ordered that tonight instead of the roast.

"Well, from my tricorder scans, he's fine. At least, he fairs better down there than us weakling humans do," Bones added sarcastically, making Kirk roll his eyes.

"I guess I'll go tell him the change of plans then, which I'm kind've dreading by the way…" Kirk trailed off guiltily.

Bones looked at him quizzically. "Why's that?"

Kirk winced. "Let's just say I kind've…lost my temper with him. Said some things I'm not proud of."

Bones sighed. "Of course you did," he deadpanned before shooting up from the table and dusting his pants off. "Well, don't let me keep ya'…" he finished sarcastically before gathering his tray, and leaving the table. Kirk watched him go before leaving himself. He could tell by the way Spock left the transporter room three hours ago that he'd pissed the Vulcan off, and he didn't relish having to talk to him again so soon.

On his way to Spock's quarters, his communicator went off.

"Kirk here," he answered tiredly into the device, hoping to God it wasn't Spock. He still hadn't prepared the speech he intended to give the Vulcan, and from what he knew of Spock…words were everything to him.

"Uhura here, Captain," Uhura's smooth voice spilled through the device. _Good, I still have time,_ he thought in relief.

"What's up?"

"I've got an urgent message from Command, sir. It's Admiral Marcus, and it's been deemed priority one," she informed him sympathetically. It was obvious she didn't really care for Marcus either. In fact, no one on the bridge save Spock, really did. The man just had this air about him, and it tended to stink most of the time.

Kirk groaned and cursed silently. What the hell did the Admiral want now? "Pipe it down to my quarters, Lieutenant," he ordered tiredly.

"Aye, Captain," she answered professionally before cutting the connection.

Kirk took a deep breath as he neared the door to his quarters. He paused just outside of it and mentally prepared himself for what was to come. Obviously his apology to Spock would have to wait.

((oOo))

Spock had been meditating for four point three hours when his door chimed; effectively bringing him out of the light trance he'd managed to slip into.

"Spock? It's me, Jim," Jim's voice sounded through the door panel, and instantly Spock stiffened. He did not wish to see the Captain again so soon after their _argument_ in the transporter room. However, Jim was the captain, so what he wished, and what as expected of him were two different things.

Standing up from his criss-crossed position on the floor, Spock fluidly blew out the incense and ordered the lights at eighty-five percent before walking to the door to grant the captain entrance.

When the door slid open, Jim was standing there, and he looked furious.

Spock internally flinched at the murderous gaze in his Captain's eyes. Surely, _surely_ Jim was not still mad at him? Surely Spock had not warranted such an expression?

"Captain," Spock greeted in a slightly tense voice as he stepped aside, granting the man entrance. Jim didn't hesitate to shoot past him, an air of irritation about him that only added to Spock's unease.

"Captain, by the facial expression you are currently exhibiting, it is logical to conclude that you are still angry with me," Spock started before Jim could say anything. "Once again, I apologize for any offense I caused you, and I would…" he went on stiffly, not liking that expression on Jim's face one bit; but the captain was waving him down as he paced up and down the Vulcan's room. Spock inwardly winced. Obviously his captain was much angrier than he had anticipated if he would not even permit him to speak.

"I'm not angry at you, Spock."

_Not angry?_ Spock thought in surprise, and wrinkled his brow in bemusement, his head slightly canted.

"In fact, I'm the one that should be apologizing. You were just trying to help the mission succeed. What you said was…logical," Jim paused in his startling confession to regard Spock softly, "I can't be mad at you for that."

Spock couldn't shake the illogical start his stomach gave at the revelation that Jim was not mad at him. It made him feel…warm, and he could not explain why. However, he didn't permit this warmth to show. Instead he stood up straighter and inclined his head even more. "Then may I ask what has happened? You are obviously distraught by something…" suddenly, something horrible occurred to Spock, and he couldn't help widening his eyes a bit as the thought ghosted across his mind. "The mission is still ongoing, correct? The Altririans have not withdrawn diplomatic negotiations have they?" Spock probed with a bit of nervousness in his inflection. Perhaps the Altririans had grown tired of the constant breaks in their _talks, _and had decided to forego the whole thing. If that was the case, then Spock was at fault. If he had been able to maintain his shields more adequately, the need for such intermittent breaks would not have been necessary.

Jim looked confused for a moment, as though he hadn't been expecting Spock to say that. He opened his mouth to reply, but Spock was speaking again, his fear at having failed the captain suddenly overwhelming. There would be no salvaging Jim's friendship, or whatever they had, after this. "Jim…I am sorry. I am the cause of this. If I had maintained my shields more adequately, the need to take breaks would not have been necessary. I will of course explain to Admiral Marcus these circumstances as well as in my report. Rest assured that the blame with fall with me."

Jim, whose eyes had widened considerably, was waving his hands out in front of him. "Whoa! Hold up Spock! Jesus—nothing _failed. _The mission is still on! You don't have to say anything to Marcus!" Jim assured him vehemently, and in the midst of his exclamation, had come to stand right in front of Spock, his hand on the Vulcan's shoulder; his gaze imploring.

Spock eyed the hand on his shoulder, and Jim followed his gaze and immediately let go with a look of chagrin.

"Then…what is wrong?" Spock asked, ignoring the way his body tried to instinctively lean toward the retracting hand.

Jim sighed and looked the floor. "It's Marcus. I just got off sub-space with him, and he's calling the Enterprise away."

Spock blinked at him, imploring him to continue.

"Apparently the _USS Bradbury _has been critically compromised by the Orion Syndicate, and is only able to travel on impulse power. Since the _Enterprise_ is the nearest Federation ship, I've been ordered to proceed to their coordinates as fast as possible to ferry them to the nearest Starbase for repairs."

Spock raised an eyebrow and canted his head. "So we are leaving Altriri IV? But, the mission has not been completed. Leaving now would most assuredly result in failure."

Jim looked back up at him, his eyes blazing. "He knows, Spock. That's why he's ordered me to…to leave you behind. To continue the talks and complete the mission while we go aid the _Bradbury,_" the human admitted sourly, and Spock noted the way his fists had clenched. It was apparent that he was not content with this decision, and neither was Spock.

"I am…to stay here, Captain?" Spock probed almost timidly, and instantly felt ashamed. That was what Jim had said, wasn't it? Rephrasing his statement as a question was illogical, and a waste of time. However, Spock could not help himself. He could not help but feel…_nervous_ about staying on Altriri IV. He had assured everyone that their empathic abilities did not affect him, and he had been telling the truth for the most part; but he had not stayed on the planet for longer than seven hours at a given time. Spock had no idea how he would fair if he were forced to stay longer than that.

Jim gazed at him regretfully. "That's what I've been ordered to do, Spock. And I don't like it, not one damn bit. These people are supposedly not hostile, but I still barely know them, and it makes my blood run cold just _considering_ leaving you down there without protection," Jim breathed out in irritation, and stepped slightly closer to the Vulcan.

Spock averted his gaze to the floor as his mind immediately began processing what had just been said. "How long will I be required to stay?" he probed as he brought his eyes back up to meet Jim's.

Jim took a few moments to answer; perhaps because he had dreaded the answer he would give. "The _Bradbury_ is on the other side of the Alpha Quadrant, Spock. Apparently the rest of the Fleet is in the Gamma system; go fucking figure. If I have Sulu take her at Maximum warp, I'd say the longest you'd be down there is a month, considering we have to ferry a Starship all the way to a fucking Starbase at impulse."

_A month. _

_An entire month on this planet. _

The expression on Spock's face must have been one of trepidation, because instantly Jim was speaking again in a reassuring tone. "But you don't have to worry, Spock. There's no way in hell I'm leaving you here. Fuck the mission; you're more important than a damn mission," he stated firmly, his eyes blazing again.

More than anything, Spock wanted to agree with him. He did not relish staying on Altriri IV. Not at all. But Spock had been there when Marcus had briefed them on this mission. He knew how important it was, and how much Jim's Captaincy depended on its success. Spock would not allow it to fail when it was within his power to prevent such a thing.

Honing in his emotions, Spock stood as straight as possible, and raised his chin; his gazed fixed on Jim. "Negative, Captain. I will remain behind and ensure that this mission is completed successfully," Spock said evenly. He would not be the reason why Jim was put under further scrutiny by the Admiralty, or even worse; demoted.

Jim hastily shook his head. "No, Spock. I won't allow you to do that. We can barely stand half a day down there, much less a month…"

"A human can barely stand half a day, Captain," Spock corrected him. "But I am Vulcan, I am not affected in the same way."

Jim narrowed his eyes suspiciously, which meant he wasn't convinced. "Bullshit, Spock."

Spock pursed his lips. "It is not '_bullshit', _Jim, it is fact."

Well, it was only half-heartedly fact. To be honest, Spock was not sure how the Altririans would affect him given the length of time he would be staying on their planet. But that paled in comparison to the ramifications of what would happen should he not stay.

Jim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Spock, I'm not leaving you here. So you can stop arguing with me about it."

"You _will_ leave me here, Jim, because you have been ordered to do so. You do not have a decision in this matter. To not follow the Admiral's orders would be a breach in protocol, and the consequences could very well mean your career with Starfleet. I cannot allow this. I am staying," Spock affirmed in the most serious voice he could muster.

"Spock…" Jim started desperately, and Spock very nearly cracked at the sound of it.

"_Captain_. You. Will. Leave. Me. Here," Spock interrupted intensely, making Jim wince. He stared at the captain a few moments before permitting himself to sigh. "I can assure you that I will remain functional without your presence. I am in fact the only one on board this ship suitable to stay such a length of time on this planet. But the longer we stand here arguing about it, the longer the _USS Bradbury_ is without assistance, and at risk for another attack," he added in a softer tone, willing Jim to yield to the logic of the situation.

Jim continued looking at him with a worried expression, and it was as if he was battling some inner skirmish with himself. "Then I'm leaving a security detail behind," he said defiantly, but Spock shook his head.

"Negative, Jim. They would not be able to withstand staying on the planet. It would become detrimental to their health, and I would not be able to shield them for such a length of time."

Jim laughed hollowly, the sound of it ringing throughout Spock's quarters. "And what about your health, Spock? You realize what this means, right? It means that you're going to be here, without a ship to back you up should you need protection; completely at the whims of an alien race that isn't even a part of the Federation!" he exclaimed loudly.

"I have no reason to believe that Altriri IV is a hostile planet, Captain. If they were, we would not be extending a membership invitation in the first place. Furthermore, I do not believe Starfleet would permit me to stay on a planet that might possibly bode ill will toward Federation citizens," Spock did his best to explain.

Jim, who was standing just beside Spock's desk at that moment, slammed his fist down on top of it.

Spock flinched as the sound reverberated throughout his cabin.

"_Goddammit _Spock! For once in your faultless life, could you just agree with me on this? Could you just go against orders this one time?" Kirk implored him desperately, and Spock very nearly caved at the longing in the man's voice; his insistence that Spock agree with him. If he agreed, Jim would most likely exhibit that soul-warming smile that only _he_ could exhibit. Spock had an illogical attachment to that particular facial expression. It produced…a most peculiar reaction from him.

Spock continued to stare at him, his voice suddenly having gone dry. Jim took it to mean something else.

"Of course not," he blurted as he turned his face away. "Why did I expect any different."

Spock pushed down the lump that formed in his throat at the dismissive tone. He knew that Jim was angry with him, again. But it could not be helped. He would do everything in his power to make sure Jim remained the Captain of the Enterprise, because despite what Admiral Marcus seemed to think, Starfleet needed Jim as the Captain. It would be a great loss on both parties for that fact not to continue on.

"When shall I be expected to beam down, Captain?" he asked in monotone.

At first, Jim didn't say anything; he merely stared at anywhere that wasn't Spock. The Vulcan was just about to restate his question when Jim finally spoke. "I've got to confirm it with Ambassador Qu'ale first, but you need to be ready as soon as possible," Jim answered quietly, somberly, and made an effort to still avoid Spock's gaze.

The Vulcan bowed his head ever-so-slightly. "Understood, Captain."

Finally Jim turned back to him, his expression unreadable, and opened his mouth to speak, but no words were forthcoming. Instead, he nodded briskly, and moved past Spock and out of the room. It was a most abrupt exit, especially for Jim, and Spock could not help but feel unsettled by it.

He stared at the closed door Jim had just passed through for fifteen seconds before beginning to pack. He dreaded the month that was to come.

**A.N. So? What do you guys think so far? The title "How We Operate" is named thusly after the song How We Operate by Gomez. The song is largely about misunderstanding the one we love, but how we overcome those things despite it. It's a great song. **


	2. The Priest and the Vulcan

**A.N. Hello again everyone! So, this is an early update, and I just want to reiterate that this story will contain non-con. I don't think I actually warned for that at the beginning of the story, and I want people to be properly warned for it. It's not in this chapter, but it is coming up. Now, for those that **_**have**_** read Perdition…this isn't going to be as repetitive as that, at all. It's probably going to be limited to one scene, and I will warn in the chapter that has it. However, it will be graphic. I don't like to gloss over trauma. **

**I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! And, a big thank you to the people who reviewed! (If you're reading this on FF, I don't know why the chapters keep disappearing. If it keeps giving you problems, I do have this story on Ao3 and KSarchive as well. **

**Don't own trek! Sadly…S'teth is mine though. **

**Chapter Two**

Jim was not there in the transporter room to see him off, and while there was no logical reason why he _should_ be there, Spock could not suppress the ache that the gesture left him with. A Captain of a Starship would not be obligated to see the First Officer beam off the ship, he knew.

But would a friend not see a friend off? Spock knew without a doubt that if he were in Jim's place, he would have come.

Spock pushed the troubling thought away, hoisted his duffel bag over his shoulder, and stepped gingerly up onto the transporter pad to prepare to beam down to the Altriri IV for an entire month without the Enterprise. Dr. McCoy, surprisingly, was there as well as Nyota. They were both standing several feet in front him, frowns on both of their faces. Spock took a small amount of comfort in the fact that at least Nyota had come to bid him farewell.

"Here ya' go," Dr. McCoy started gruffly and thrust a small medkit toward Spock who caught it smoothly. "Don't lose that, Spock," the doctor finished firmly, making Spock raise an eyebrow.

"I shall endeavor not to, Dr. McCoy. It is never one's intention to _lose_ anything."

Dr. McCoy snorted and rolled his eyes. "Don't be a smartass you pointy-eared bastard," he scowled before leveling his eyes at him in a most sincere way. "But seriously, Spock, be careful down there…I don't like that planet, it gives me the willies…"

"Illogical Doctor, as you have not physically resided on the planet, it cannot _give_ you anything, much less an imaginary parasite or virus that is likely not to exist," Spock said evenly, his own eyes leveled on the doctor.

"Now I know you're just pulling my chain, you stubborn Vulcan," Dr. McCoy commented knowingly.

"Dr. McCoy, did _Ji—_did the captain say he would be here?" Spock decided to ask. His voice almost sounded timid to his ears, and it shamed him. He knew such a question could be viewed as emotional, but he could not help himself. It was illogical, but he _did_ wish to see Jim's face one last time before departing. Jim always had an air of confidence about him, and Spock could certainly use some at that moment because his own, oddly enough, seemed non-existent.

McCoy shared a glance with Nyota before turning back to Spock with an almost remorseful expression. "He's on the bridge, Spock. He…wanted to be here, but they need him up there…" the doctor let his voice trail off awkwardly and quickly averted the Vulcan's gaze.

Nyota however, looked irritated. "_That asshole…"_ she muttered under her breath, probably hoping Spock could not hear it as she was obviously referring to the captain.

Spock effectively masked his dismay at the news. "Of course, Doctor. I was merely curious. I am aware that the captain has more important matters to attend to," he answered impassively, but inside it felt like someone had squeezed his heart painfully tight. He knew that—if he wanted to—Jim could have been down there to say goodbye; that it would not cut into the ship duties to an unmanageable degree. Jim did not wish to be there, and that was why he was not. It was as simple as that.

"He doesn't mean it Spock, he's just pissed off at this entire situation. We all are," Dr. McCoy added, finally meeting the Vulcan's gaze again.

_Yet, both you and Nyota are here, and Jim is not, _went unspoken. Instead, the Vulcan settled for, "I would not know what you are referring to, Dr. McCoy." Spock's answer was dismissive and curt as he feigned ignorance. Were his emotions regarding Jim that visible? Unacceptable.

"Of course you don't…" McCoy added knowingly, and under his breath.

"Spock, you better take care of yourself. We'll see you in a month," Nyota chimed in bluntly while she moved forward, and up onto the pad. Foreshadowing what she intended to do, Spock let his duffle bag and medkit drop softly to the floor just as she threw her arms around his torso and hugged him close._ 'Hugs' _were a human custom Spock had learned, and largely detested on most occasions. Yet, he allowed her this expression of emotion, and actually found himself basking in the closeness; wishing that a certain someone was also there to give him such a gesture.

"I'm being serious, Spock," she started again and leaned her body back to look him in the eyes. "Be careful," she encouraged gently before breaking off the embrace completely, and backing away off the pad to resume her stance next to the doctor who was eyeing the entire exchange with a thoughtful expression.

Spock picked his duffel bag and medkit back up. He could have explained to her that it would be illogical to not be cautious and aware; or _careful_, as she had coined it, but he knew what she meant, and knew she just wanted to hear him confirm her wishes that he remain safe. A placation for her benefit. "I shall endeavor to do so, Nyota," Spock assured her before raising his hand in the Vulcan _ta'al._ Nyota mimicked the hand gesture. Dr. McCoy did not. He did not say the customary farewell however. It sounded too much like a final goodbye.

"Ready? Commander Spock?" the ensign manning the controls asked professionally?" Before Spock answered, he looked to the entrance of the transporter room one more time, illogically hoping that Jim would could parading through in a last minute effort to bid him farewell.

His hope was in vein though, for Jim did not come through, and Spock hated that that fact alone could affect his mood so drastically.

"Energize," he said hollowly, and a second later, the familiar beams engulfed him, and sent him down to Altriri IV.

((oOo))

When Spock rematerialized, he found himself in the expansive, extravagantly decorated room where the entirety of their meetings had taken place. Every member of the High Council was there to greet him, and to his immense disdain, so was S'teth. The High Priest was smiling toothily at him from beside Ambassador Qu'ale, and the smile sent a small chill up his spine.

Sparing them all a quick nod, Spock opened up his communicator. "Spock to Enterprise."

"We hear you, Spock." Surprisingly, it was Dr. McCoy's voice that sounded through the device instead of the ensign who had been manning the controls.

"I am merely confirming my safe arrival, please inform the Captain. Spock out," he said stoically into the communicator before cutting the connection, thereby not giving the doctor a chance to respond. He pocketed the device, and gave his full attention to those that would be his hosts for the next month.

"I thank you for your hospitality, High Council members," he started as he met the gazes of each Altririan. He stopped when his eyes caught those of Ambassador Qu'ale's. "I am certain it must be an inconvenience to permit me to stay here for such a lengthy amount of time," Spock went on clearly and stepped closer into the room toward his hosts. Fortunately, his head did not protest the arrival onto the planet, and he figured that since he had managed to obtain four hours of meditation prior to beaming down, his shields were holding adequately as a result. Spock supposed that as long as he allotted extra time for meditation during his stay, he could perhaps avoid the headaches, migraines, and general discomfort that being on Altriri IV caused him. One stark difference was that he did not have to shield another's mind as well as his own. Therefore, keeping his own mind strong and resilient to the Altririan's empathic abilities should be considerably easier.

"There is no inconvenience, Commander Spock. We are delighted to have you, and are actually looking forward to conversing with you as opposed to your Captain," Ambassador Qu'ale answered jubilantly. Beside him, Priest S'teth nodded approvingly.

Spock frowned. "Are you inferring that Captain Kirk's performance as a representative of Starfleet and the Federation was not adequate?" It was hard to mask the bitterness in his voice, but he managed it nonetheless. It was not a good way to make an amenable impression, but Spock could not help but be defensive for what could possibly be coined an insult toward his captain. Especially when Jim had performed adequately in this diplomatic mission despite the difficulties it had presented.

Instantly the Ambassador's eyes widened along with his companions. S'teth, he noted, had stopped smiling, and was merely regarding the exchange curiously. "No, No! Of course not, Commander. Your Captain was…_quite_ an individual. I did so enjoy speaking with him, and look forward to doing so again in the future," Qu'ale corrected enthusiastically before his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "_You _however, have been mostly silent in your time here…"

_Silent with the effort to keep you from invading my Captain's mind, and feeding off of his emotions…_Spock wanted to say, but refrained.

"You are Vulcan, and most of us have not met a Vulcan before. Of course we have heard stories, and have done our research on your species, but it is very different meeting one in person. We are looking forward to learning more about your people," the Ambassador went on before considering something, "Commander Spock, you are telepathic, correct?"

Spock hesitated in answering. "I…am a touch telepath; it is why I avoid physical contact," he answered and stood straighter as he did so.

For some strange and illogical reason, this excited the Council members, and they immediately turned and regarded each other eagerly, some even beginning to converse excitedly. Well, all of them except for Priest S'teth, who just continued to stare intensely at the Vulcan. Spock could not help but feel uneasy under the deep gaze, and he quickly averted his eyes.

"You will have to excuse us, Commander. We have not met many telepathic races, and being that we are empaths by nature, it is a fascinating prospect to us," the Ambassador explained as he walked closer to the Vulcan, who resisted the urge to step back.

"Perhaps now would be an opportune time to show me my quarters so that I may unpack; then we can discuss finishing the negotiations for possible Federation membership," Spock suggested pointedly just as the Ambassador reached out a hand as if to touch him. Had he not just explained to them that he preferred not to be touched? They had not acted this way when Jim had been here handling the _talks_, and for a fleeting moment, Spock felt a horrible sense of dread drop into the pit of his stomach.

Ambassador Qu'ale looked at him blankly for a moment, as if he did not comprehend the statement before gasping, "Ah yes, of course! I will have my servant, Ch'iora, show you to your room. If you meet us back here in….let's say….half one of your hours? We can discuss the itinerary."

"I find that agreeable, thank you," Spock responded just as a golden-skinned, shirtless male with black long hair pulled back into a low-hanging pony-tail approached him from the corner of the room. Spock had not noticed him before, and wondered how he could not have, for the alien was exotically dressed from the waist down, and had several hieroglyphic tattoos adorning his broad, bare chest. Being that the High Council as well as the High Priest all adorned ceremonial robes which completely covered them, Spock had yet to see the litany of tattoos on an Altririan, and he vaguely wondered if they all bore such characteristics on their chests.

"I am Ch'iora," the male started, his voice low and deep. "I will show you to your room, follow me," he finished crisply and turned to walk out of the large room. Spock nodded to the rest of the High Council and took care to _not _catch S'teth's gaze before he made to follow the servant.

His room was in the same palace where all of the Enterprise's meetings had taken place. However, it was still a good distance away from the main room. They had been given a brief tour back when Jim and the rest of the away team had beamed down; but Spock was now getting to see parts of the large palace that he had not seen initially on the tour.

It was obvious that the Altririans had a preference for the colors: gold, copper, bronze, and mostly anything that fit within that color scope, for the large corridors were just as ornately decorated as the main room. They had high vaulted ceilings, and were lit by flame. Spock had never been on Altriri IV during the planet's night cycle, so he had yet to witness the varying torches that lined the walls. Spock surmised that they were not needed during the day because the planet's sun would shine through the large windows that littered the palace walls. The Altririans were an advanced race, so Spock suspected the use of primitive torches to light the corridors was more for appeal than anything. Nyota, Spock suspected, would appreciate them. He certainly did. They _were_ appealing; what with the way the light from the embers flickered and danced across the stone walls which were lined with the same hieroglyphics tattooed on the servant's chest and arms. If Spock had to make a comparison, he would say that the Altririan civilization reminded him strongly of Earth's own ancient Egypt on a much more modern scale.

"This is your room, you would do well to remember the way back to the main room," Ch'iora supplied in monotone as they came to a stop in front of a large bronze door that stood at least nine feet tall. Spock could not help thinking what would happen in the event that he did not remember the way. Surely they would not punish him. He had not taken the Altririan's for barbaric.

"My memory is eidetic, I will not forget," Spock answered apathetically just as the servant opened the large door and motioned him inside. Spock walked into the room being indicated to him, and Ch'iora said nothing in response. Without a parting word, the servant disappeared off down the hallway, and out of sight. Spock watched him leave before closing the door, and turning back to inspect where he would be sleeping for the next month.

The room itself was large, exceedingly so; and lit by the same torches that lined the corridors. However, there were no windows like out in the corridors. There was a sizable, plush pallet in the middle of the room, and directly behind it was a large fireplace adorned with gold and bronze. The existence of the pallet indicated that the use of _beds_ was not a custom there on Altriri IV. The fabric on the pallet appeared to be made of some variation of silk, and it was adorned with brightly colored pillows and throws which surprisingly, were not gold or bronze in color, but rather vibrant purples, reds, silvers, and oranges. It was not his bed on the Enterprise, but Spock did not object to sleeping on it.

Off to the right of the room was what Spock suspected to be a large fountain. He instantly found himself walking toward it out of curiosity. Why would there be a fountain in a bedroom? But as he neared closer, he learned that it was in fact a bathing tub, not a fountain. It was almost twelve feet in both directions, and was rooted into the floor so that if he decided to utilize it, he would have to step down into it. A massive statue of what Spock suspected was a deity stood just on the other side of the tub, its back facing to the wall. Streams of water flowed freely out of every orifice on the statue and down into the tub, where he assumed the water constantly existed. Errantly, he wondered how they kept the water clean since they obviously did not drain the tub.

There were no shower installations that he could find, much to his disappointment. Perhaps those were not a custom there either like the beds. Spock was momentarily distraught by that fact. He did not relish baths because he detested water; but he would make do. He would have to.

The room itself smelled of some kind of spice mixed with incense that Spock could not identify, and it scratched and irritated his nose. The scent seemed to be stronger by the bathing tub. It was yet another aspect he did not relish, but would have to acclimate to. At least the pallet was a good distance from the tub.

On the left side of the room there existed what Spock assumed was a bar that sat low to the ground, so that one could sit on the floor and still have access to it. More sizable cushions existed along the bar; much like the ones in the main room. Spock knew those cushions served as the equivalent to terran chairs and couches. There was a table set up as well, but it was also low to the ground so that, if you were sitting on the cushion, you could utilize it without complications. While he had heard Jim complain minutely about having to sit on cushions instead of at actual chairs, Spock had absolutely no problem using the cushions. In a lot of ways, it reminded him of his meditation mat.

The room thoroughly inspected, Spock wasted no time in walking over to the pallet, and opening his duffel bag to unpack the items he had brought along with him; his toiletries, a week's worth of clothing, his meditation mat, meditation robes, his tricorder, his personal PADD, and his incense. Looking around, Spock did not find any drawers to store his clothing or items, so he refolded his clothes, and stacked them neatly by the end of the pallet. His meditation mat he set up in the left corner of the room in such a way that it was angled in front of the fireplace. The large flames that the area exhibited would prove useful during mediation, Spock thought. He placed his incense there along with his mediation robes before taking his toiletries bag over to the large tub. It appeared that the sink was also a built-in part of the tub; as if one would only utilize it whilst bathing; so Spock set the bag down on the stone ground next to it, and returned to his duffel bag, which still held his tricorder.

He left the tricorder in the bag as he had only brought it along in the event that the High Council permitted him to explore the city and the surrounding environment. He was a scientist after all, and found the aspect of collecting and researching new information on the planet; which was hot and arid like Vulcan had been; to be quite alluring. Nyota, he imagined, would roll her eyes at him.

Jim, he thought sadly, would likely wish to accompany him on such an excursion; given he was no longer angry with him.

Spock's heart panged a little at the memory of their last conversation, and he pushed it from his mind as quickly as possible. There was nothing he could do about it now. Soon, if not already, the Enterprise would be far out of range of a simple communicator. He would not be able speak to Jim until they returned for him. Hopefully by then his Captain will have recovered from the negative emotional influence of Altriri IV, and thus would no longer be upset with him.

To get his mind off of Jim, Spock straightened his blue science shirt, and exited the room. It would leave a good impression to arrive to the main room early instead of on time. And that's what Spock wanted to do; leave a good impression so as to entice this race to join the Federation so that finally, the Admiralty would view Jim's captaincy in a more positive light.

((oOo))

"So, the Federation would take sixty percent of all revenue regarding the trade of Diluthium on Altriri IV?" T'hep; the tallest of the Council members, and only female on said Council; probed with an air of incredulity.

"As your avenues of trade would undoubtedly increase upon admission into the Federation, this exchange would only be fair and logical to both parties involved. Add to that the fact that your planet would be under the protection of the Federation, thereby making your Dilithium mines safer to work in," Spock endeavored to explain clearly while he probed the plate of food in front of him suspiciously with his Altririan utensil; an odd variation of what Spock could only assume was a fork. Tonight's meeting had taken place over the evening meal; which to Spock's dismay, barely consisted of any vegetarian options. The Altririans seemed to favor meat to an unusually high degree, and had thought of the Vulcan's own dietary needs. He considered of enlightening them to his preference for vegetarian options, but did not want to appear _needy_.

This had been their third meeting in the course of a week, and despite his constant reiterations of what Federation admission would entail; the High Council had not seemed to grasp his explanations in a positive light. Vaguely, Spock wondered if Jim had had this problem. Spock was the son of a diplomat, an Ambassador, and things should be escalating much more quickly than they were.

"Yes, we understand what you are saying, Commander Spock, but…" and here T'hep looked to her companions all seated on cushions along the broad table. "We are not sure we are comfortable with the Federation taking sixty percent of the profits, considering it is our Dilithium," the alien finished evenly, and turned her gaze back to Spock where it hardened.

Spock did not flinch under the glare, and instead sat up straighter on his violet colored cushion; or, as straight as it would permit. "Be that as it may, Councilwoman T'hep, you have already stated that the Romulans have shown a predatory interest in your planet in regards to Altriri IV's Dilithium. If they should attack, you will not be able to protect your planet adequately; you do not possess the means, and they will most assuredly take much more than sixty percent of your profit, and perhaps more," Spock stated, his eyes ghosting over to the Ambassador who was regarding him with amusement. Spock did not know what to make of that, so he looked back to T'hep, who was openly scowling.

A moment later, Spock placed a hand on his temple to quell the emerging headache. It was nearing the end of his first week on the planet, and already his shields were becoming compromised. It was not as severe when he was in the confines of his quarters, but here in the midst of the natives, it was much more difficult to maintain them.

His discomfort did not go unnoticed by Ambassador Qu'ale who fluidly rose from his cushion and cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should resume this discussion at a later date; our guest appears fatigued."

Despite wishing to settle this discussion here and now, Spock was silently relieved to be excused. He was in need of meditation. Hopefully, the grand fireplace back in his room would prove soothing to his aching mind.

Despite it only having been a week, to Spock, it was starting to feel like months. Without having the Enterprise to escape to, Spock was constantly surrounded by the tenuous pull of other minds seeking his; wanting to feed on his carefully suppressed and controlled emotions. It was better when he was alone in his room, but even then, after the fourth day, that constant throbbing pull had not gone away. It had lingered indefinitely despite meditation.

After the customary farewells to his hosts, Spock wove in between the servants that had come in to clear the dishes away from the table, and paced eagerly back to his room. Never before had he wished for the comfort of his meditation mat, or the fireplace in front of it, as he did then. He desperately wished to experience the calm serenity it would provide him as he sat there, palms up, and processed his thoughts; reinstated his shields that had been battered throughout the day.

Once back in his room, Spock undressed himself, folded his clothes neatly, and placed them aside. He then dampened a washcloth underneath the ever-present bath water in the large tub, doused it with just a bit of the sanitizer he had brought with him from the ship, and proceeded to cleanse his body of the day's filth. He still refused to utilize the tub for hygienic purposes. He knew that being completely submerged in water would no doubt be unpleasant, and he wished to avoid the sensation if it were possible.

Sufficiently clean, Spock adorned his meditation robes and carefully lit his incense as well as the fire before settling down onto the mat. As the familiar scent ran through him, the severity of his headache, which had turned into a migraine at dinner, lessened just a fraction.

Spock had not been seated there long when a knock sounded at his door. Knowing the hour was indeed beginning to grow late, even by Altririan standards, Spock raised an eyebrow quizzically. Perhaps if he did not answer it, whoever it was would go away. All he wished to do was meditate. To quell the sharp pain so that maybe…he could sleep.

When the knock sounded again with considerably more force, Spock had already stood up from the mat with a sigh of irritation, and headed to the door. Perhaps it was one of the servants, or perhaps a Council member. Whoever it was, he would deal with them quickly and resume his meditation.

Reinforcing his shields to the best of his ability, Spock opened the door, and was momentarily startled at who stood on the other side.

It was Priest S'teth.

"Ah, Commander Spock!" he started jubilantly before looking the Vulcan up and down appreciatively. "I must say, your attire is…quite exquisite. Is this a Vulcan garment?" he finished as he indicated with this large, ringed finger to Spock's robes in such a way that the Vulcan denied was seductive.

"Indeed it is," Spock confirmed flatly. "I apologize for my indecency, I did not expect visitors this evening," he finished in what he hoped was a dismissive tone. He did not relish the idea of being in Priest S'teth's company. To his shame, the alien unsettled him; had done so the very first time he had met him. The present moment was not any different.

Priest S'teth waved him down. "No need to apologize, I'm aware I came here unannounced." _and uninvited_ went unsaid. "Pardon the intrusion, but I wanted to have a word," the large alien added and leaned forward slightly, as if to encourage Spock to step aside and permit him entrance.

The Vulcan held his ground, making sure to keep his arm firmly hoisted in the doorway to block S'teth from entering.

"This is actually an inconvenient time for me, Priest S'teth," Spock countered politely. The last thing he wanted was for this alien to be in his personal quarters.

Priest S'teth chuckled, "oh surely you can make an exception for the High Priest of Altriri IV?"

Spock permitted his eyebrow to rise. Apparently the _priest_ was quite self-assured in his role as the High Priest, and the power that came with it.

For a moment, Spock was at a standstill as of what to do. He could insist that Priest S'teth leave him be, and come back at a more convenient time, but the alien seemed quite persistent. And, if the role of the High Priest was as influential as Spock had observed it to be, it would not be in the Federation's—nor the mission's—best interest to offend the being that held that role.

Resisting the urge to sigh, Spock reluctantly stepped aside to permit S'teth entrance. His shields screamed at him as the alien waltzed happily by, making sure to inhale deeply as he did so. Spock did not look forward to the severe migraine he would likely have at the end of this visit; especially if the priest insisted on attempting to inhale his emotions at every open opportunity.

"What do you wish to discuss, Priest S'teth?" Spock asked shortly as he turned to face the alien currently walking about his room as if it were his own. He paused by Spock's folded clothes on the pallet, bent his golden black-haired head down, and proceeded to _smell_ them. Spock felt a trill of alarm run through him at the offending act, but refrained from commenting. If he remained agreeable, soon the priest would say what he had to say, and vacate his quarters, and then Spock could resume his meditation, which was becoming more and more daunting the longer this male lingered there with him.

"You have a most…peculiar smell, Spock. It is almost intoxicating. Do all Vulcans smell like you?" the alien asked him innocently while he fingered a blue science tunic that belonged to Spock.

The Vulcan stiffened and attempted to stand straighter. "I cannot speak for all Vulcans, Priest. I do not personally know every Vulcan individual, and therefore cannot provide you with a viable answer," he replied stiffly, ignoring the impulse to point out to the alien that such a question—such a statement—was offensive to him and highly personal. However, just because Spock was offended, did not mean such a statement on Altriri IV was considered an affront.

S'teth, to his surprise laughed heartily, and began to walk toward his meditation mat, his keen, bronze speckled eyes focused on the lighted incense which resided there. "And of course, the way you speak is just as intoxicating. I am ashamed to admit how utterly taken I have become with you, Spock," and here S'teth turned back around to face him with hungry eyes. "At first I thought it was just the exotic air about you; what with the delicately pointed ears, the aristocratic eyebrows, the creamy skin, so different than our own…such a stark contrast."

Spock felt his heart rate accelerate. Surely he was not hearing what he thought he was hearing.

"Immediately, I was fascinated by you," he dipped his head and narrowed his eyes lecherously. "You, Spock, are so different than your human companions, and with the destruction of Vulcan, such a rarity in the present times."

"Priest…" Spock had started shakily. He could see where this was going, he was old enough, and had been in the company of humans long enough to determine when he was being propositioned.

"But despite all of that, I was able to keep my control, and my composure around you as you so diligently attempted to shield your shipmates, and your _Captain_, from our gifts," he soldiered on, ignoring Spock's attempt to cut in as he slowly decreased the distance between them. "It was not until your shields first faltered, first started to give way, that I really knew though. When I caught the scent of those exquisite emotions you keep hidden beneath that divine exterior, I knew I had to have you…I had to experience those emotions for myself. I had to bask in them…" S'teth breathed out longingly, but Spock had heard enough.

"Priest S'teth, I must ask that you cease this discussion," Spock hastily cut in just as the alien came to stand almost nose-to-nose with him, his golden-bronzed hand very nearly taking Spock's.

"Ah yes, even your anger is intoxicating…" S'teth breathed out just as he leaned in to inhale Spock's scent again. This time though, the Vulcan pushed him away forcibly enough to send him staggering backward.

"Stop!" he shouted just as the migraine in his head gave a nasty pang, no doubt caused by the alien in front of him. He needed him to leave. Now. The lust in the air was palpable to Spock, and there was no doubt in his mind just who it was emanating from.

S'teth didn't fall down, but he did stumble. When he regained his bearings, he turned around and glared at Spock, a certain fury evident in his eyes that had not been there before.

"You…you would _deny _me? Do you know who I am?" S'teth questioned in utter astonishment, as if the mere thought of Spock's rejection had never crossed his mind.

Spock glared at him, and refused to be intimidated.

"You are the High Priest of Altriri IV, and I am a Starfleet Officer of the Federation. What you are suggesting we engage in is not ethical, nor is it wanted. I understand that your culture may hold copulation in a different regard; but as you said, I am Vulcan, and I am bound by a different culture, and different morals. What you are asking of me is greatly offensive, and I must ask that you cease in the endeavor."

S'teth, who was standing back at his full, immense height marched straight up to him, and for a moment, Spock wondered if the priest would strike him, but no such blow came. Instead, the alien burned into him with a menacing gaze. "You are Vulcan, Spock. But you are on _my _planet, and I find it offensive that the son of a diplomat cannot abide by our customs," the priest spat out disdainfully. "You say you are the one offended? I am the one offended here," he furthered icily, and for a moment Spock was speechless. How did this being know who his father was? However, he had no time to pose the question, for the alien had started off on him again.

"You are here to ensure that we become a part of your _Federation?_ You should know that the High Council will not make any important decisions regarding this planet without my blessing; _my_ approval. You do not realize the mistake you have just made by refusing me, Commander. I hope it was worth the failure of your mission," and with that, the alien shoved past him with a harsh bump to the shoulder that nearly caused Spock to stumble, and sprang from the room, slamming the door behind him as he did so.

Spock stared after him, still drowning in the aftershock of what had just happened. It was obvious that he would not be meditating tonight. In fact, he was doubtful that he would even manage to sleep after that conversation.

**A.N So? What do you guys think? Am I doing this prompt justice? Well, I guess it's a little early to tell at the moment. Give me your thoughts! **


	3. Lullaby for a Sadist

**A.N Hello again so soon! This will probably be the last update until sometime next week, so no more back-to-backs! As much as I love getting them out to ya'll, I've got to pace myself. I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to leave their reviews and thoughts, and it makes me so happy to see familiar faces! I also want to thank Rubyhair and Coccinelle for the advice regarding this fic as it unfolds. Coccinelle expressed a wish for me to name the chapters like I did in my other fic, so here I am doing that! Several of you have asked me how long this is going to be, and I can tell you this; it's not going to be short; meaning; it's probably not going to be less than 200k. As I've said, I write with a lot of detail, and for me, true angst and h/c deserves a lot of length to properly heal the characters and do them justice. (hence why my perdition series is split up into three parts) **

**WARNINGS!: this chapter is going to contain a graphic, non-con scene. (rape) I originally warned in this chapter for dub-con, and ended up offending someone. After further consideration, I did take the dub-con warning out of this chapter. I honestly thought dub-con was a lot more severe in terms of not-okayness during sex, but after reading further into it, I can agree with the complainer. This isn't really dub-con what happens (However, I don't think dub-con is okay either. Sex should be completely consensual) However, after further consideration, I did take that warning out since someone found it insulting, and I don't want to offend people because I didn't properly educate myself on warnings. Soooo that warning has been removed. ****Any of you who have read Closing Walls and Ticking Clocks know that I don't make this warning lightly. Despite complaints for putting the XXXX in front of the scene in previous fics, I am going to put them in this chapter for people who would rather skip past it, and I will provide a brief summary at the end if you did. I know this upsets the flow for some of you, but I would rather disturb the flow than trigger someone despite me warning.**

******Chapter Three**

****** Lullaby for a Sadist**

As Spock had already expected, he hadn't managed to sleep at all after Priest S'teth had left his room. And if that was not enough, his stomach had growled and twisted painfully all night long from the hunger that had started to plague him from not eating anything the entire week. There were some who were under the common misconception that Vulcans could go long periods of time without eating. In some cases, that was true; but with the amount of energy Spock was constantly having to expend to keep the Altririans from affecting him so detrimentally, the fact that he wasn't taking in a form of sustenance to sustain that energy expenditure was proving difficult to bear. Sooner or later, he would have to consume something. He could not go the entire month like this.

Once he was dressed, Spock begrudgingly left his room and endeavored to locate the palace kitchen so that he might find a vegetarian option that he could consume. It was in the midst of this quest that the servant, Ch'iora, intercepted him and informed him curtly that his presence was requested in the main room. Apparently, Ambassador Qu'ale wished a personal audience with him.

Not wishing to keep the Ambassador waiting, Spock set aside his hunger pains as best he could, and made his way to the main room. He couldn't help but feel anxious because of what had happened last night between him and the priest, and come to find out, he had a right to be anxious; because barely two minutes into the conversation, S'teth's earlier threat proved fruitful.

"We have reconsidered, Commander Spock. We no longer wish to join the Federation," Ambassador Qu'ale informed him apologetically from his seated position on one of the many cushions adorning the extravagant room. Spock had suspected this might happen, but he still could not keep the disdain out of his voice when he responded; and given that he _had not_ meditated last night, nor had he slept, or eaten anything since his last meal on the Enterprise…his temper was considerably shorter.

"May I ask what has swayed your decision? Perhaps we can come to some sort of compromise," Spock breathed out through gritted teeth. He was perfectly aware that his emotions were showing, but it could not be helped. He knew _exactly_ what, or more importantly—_who—_had influenced their decision, and it irritated him to no end.

"We take the advice of our High Priest very seriously, Commander. He does not think it wise to accept admission at this time, and we," he paused in hesitation, "agree with him," Qu'ale finished and shifted his gaze to the table's surface. It was obvious that the Ambassador was reluctant in said agreement.

"Priest S'teth has convinced you of this? Based on what facts?" Spock all but spat, his anger for the alien shining shamefully in his tone.

At once, Qu'ale lifted his gaze from the table and narrowed his eyes at him in surprising hostility. "That is not your business, Commander. The inner workings and politics of our government do not concern you or your Starfleet. I am merely relaying our decision," he stated sternly before sighing and allowing his eyes to grow softer. "Of course, you are still welcome to share our hospitality until your ship comes back to retrieve you, but the diplomatic negotiations have ceased," Qu'ale finished gently. Spock opened his mouth to argue further, but before he could utter a word, the Ambassador had risen fluidly from his cushion, and abruptly left the main room.

Spock sat there in stunned silence, unsure of what his next step should be. He did not know whether to be angry, or confused by the direction that the Ambassador's conversation had taken. Had Spock really just failed this mission? Had he failed Jim? Spock remembered Jim's anger with him on the day he had beamed down to the planet; and it pained him to imagine the anger that Jim would undoubtedly feel toward him when he arrived back on Altriri IV, and learned that it would _not_ become a Federation planet.

Spock fisted his hands together in frustration as he rose from his cushion and proceeded to exit the main room himself. He felt an unbearable need to get out of this room, and back to his quarters. This was not how he had imagined this stay going, and certainly not all because he had refused to engage in…

"I told you, Vulcan, that my word carried considerable weight around here. You should have listened to me," the boisterous voice of S'teth sounded from the entrance of the room where he came sashaying in; his large body effectively blocking Spock's exit. Suprisingly, the priest was completely shirtless, which only made the tattoos on his broad chest and arms stand out all the more. Apparently, all the Altririan's sported these ceremonial tattoos, and not just the servants.

Spock attempted to go around the priest, but S'teth only further blocked his exit. The Vulcan instantly felt his face flush at the blatant act. S'teth was the last person he wished to see at the moment.

"I have no comment on the matter," Spock all but spat, his eyes glaring at the other who seemed to appear amused by the Vulcan's anger. "I ask that you permit me to pass. I wish to return to my quarters," he furthered sternly. He was in dire need of meditation.

S'teth chuckled briefly before answering. "Of course, _Commander,"_ the priest answered mockingly, and slid out of the way.

Spock had barely made it three steps out into the corridor when S'teth's devious voice sounded after him. "_However, _Spock…I am willing to redact my advice regarding your Federation, if only you would give yourself to me. It would only be for the duration of your stay. That is all I ask."

Spock instantly halted, but he did not turn around. He could not believe what he had just heard. When he finally did turn back around, S'teth was gone, but his words lingered heavily in the air.

((oOo))

The next two days passed in relative silence for Spock. Given that the negotiations had come to a standstill, perhaps permanently, he had no reason to venture to the main room anymore except for meal times; which even then he found himself avoiding. The smell of the practically raw meat that had been constantly served had begun to make him nauseas despite his increasing exposure to it.

He had again attempted to find the kitchens again to quell his growing hunger, but his search had been fruitless. After hours of searching for it, Spock had finally been forced to ask the servant, Ch'iora, to point him in the right direction. But the servant had merely stared at him as if he'd said something obscene and stated pointedly, "_guests are not permitted in the kitchens."_ Spock would have asked him to instead bring a palatable dish to him, but something about the alien's expression told him that that request would not be granted either. The servant had not seemed to care for his needs in the slightest. The Vulcan did not know why, and was reluctant to find out. If the other Altririans were anything like the High Priest, then his requests for something edible would likely go ignored.

His migraines, fortunately, had reduced in intensity until they were merely headaches. He tied that development back to the fact that he had practically avoided interacting with any members of the Altririan race, save the servants, since his meeting with Ambassador Qu'ale. Instead of the constant sharp pains that had been plaguing his temples, it had reduced to a mere dull throbbing. It was not comfortable, but Spock greatly preferred it to the latter. At least if he meditated enough, he could barely feel it.

Wishing to keep his headaches on a manageable and tolerable level, Spock avoided his scientific impulse to explore the surrounding city or desert. The chance that he would meet more natives, and thus expose himself to more empathic influence, had been too high.

On the afternoon of the third day following his dreadful meeting with Ambassador Qu'ale, Spock had just finished meditating when a knock at his door sounded. Briefly, he considered not answering it. He did not wish to undo the calmness that the past four hours of meditating had brought him.

The knock sounded again though, and prompted Spock to rise and answer the door, hoping with all his illogical might that it _wasn't_ the priest.

He was relieved when he found Ch'iora standing on the other side, a scowl on his face. Spock suspected that the servant did not particularly care for him, but he would take the servant over the High Priest any day of the week.

"Do you require my assistance?" Spock prompted flatly, hoping the answer would be in the negative; that perhaps the servant had been mistaken in coming for him, and would soon leave him in solitude.

"I have been sent to collect you. You have an urgent message from one of your Starfleet Admirals I believe is what he called himself," the servant informed him with a mild hint of disdain in his tone.

Spock allowed a brief flash of surprise to ghost across his eyes. He had not been aware that subspace communication was possible this far out from Command. The revelation actually irritated him to an extent, for if he could converse with Command, why then, could he not converse with the Enterprise?

Masking his surprise, Spock bowed his head in confirmation. "Thank you for informing me, if you will allow me a moment to change into something more appropriate, I shall be with you shortly," he answered placidly and indicated to the meditation robe he currently adorned.

Ch'iora nodded minutely and backed up to stand against the wall, most likely to wait for him. Shutting the door, Spock quickly changed into his regulation science tunic and black pants, exited the room, and followed Ch'iora through the palace until they came to another room that housed a great deal more technology than the rest of the palace.

There were a few Altririans scattered about at various stations, most likely monitoring frequencies and communications in deep space. When they noticed him, they all greeted him politely before excusing themselves.

Ch'iora led him to what Spock deduced was a communications station, and a rather sophisticated one at that. It was no wonder Command had been able to reach him on Altriri IV, for the machine appeared quite urbane.

On his way over to the station, Spock pondered if they would permit him to contact his ship. He had an illogical urge to speak to his captain again, if only to reassure himself that Jim was not dissatisfied with him any longer. If only he knew that, then the rest of his stay on the planet would not be as disagreeable to him.

No sooner had such a thought crossed his mind that Spock immediately felt ashamed. Whether or not Jim was angry at him should not affect his time on Altriri IV. His captain's emotions had nothing to do with the planet, and therefore, allowing them to influence his reactions to the environment around him was illogical, and unacceptable.

"Are you able to operate this station, Commander Spock?" Ch'iora asked him reluctantly, probably not enthused with the idea of assisting him lest he did not know how to operate it. Fortunately, Spock felt confident in his abilities to use a communications station, even if it was slightly alien compared to the type he had grown used to.

"I do not believe your assistance is needed further, Ch'iora. I thank you for your aid thus far," Spock answered, keeping his eyes on the controls of the communications panel as his hands danced across them.

"Then I shall make my exit, I trust you will remember how to get back to your quarters, good night," the servant answered dismissively. Spock heard an accompaniment of footsteps and the sound of a door opening and closing; which told him he was now alone in the room.

Before pressing the command on the panel that would open the channel, Spock mentally prepared himself. He had no idea why Admiral Marcus—for that's who Spock assumed it would be—would wish to speak with him, and over an unsecure, alien channel of all places. Surely whatever information he held for the Vulcan would not be sensitive material, or he would not risk it being overheard.

Spock took another deep breath before giving the terminal the command to bring up the viewscreen, and with it, the stern gaze of Admiral Marcus.

"Admiral Marcus, I had not been expecting communication with you during my stay on Altriri IV," Spock greeted impassively as he squared his shoulders back and stood up straighter.

On the other end, Marcus was peering at him with a lazy expression on his face.

"Commander Spock, first I guess I should apologize for having to leave you on that planet, but the _USS Bradbury's_ situation could not be ignored. However, neither could this mission," Marcus deadpanned in a burly voice that seemed characteristic of the man.

"There is no need to apologize, Admiral Marcus. I have been briefed on the nature of the _USS Bradbury's_ emergency, and understand the reasoning's for why I have been ordered to complete this mission in the Captain's stead."

Marcus scowled at the mention of Jim, which was not a good sign. "Yeah, well if that kid had done his job in the first place, you wouldn't have had to stay behind, because Altriri IV would already be a member by now," he spat bitterly.

Spock stiffened.

"With all due respect, Admiral; the Altririans possess empathic abilities that have a detrimental effect on humans, thus the reason why these negotiations have extended to such a length. The Captain, as well as the mostly human crew on board the Enterprise, cannot withstand being in their physical presence for a great length of time. It is only logical that such a mission as this one has not been completed yet," Spock attempted to explain as politely as possible. If Marcus had read the reports Spock and Jim had religiously sent, he would be privy to this information already, and Spock's explanation would be unnecessary. This had not been the first time the Vulcan had questioned Admiral Marcus' qualifications as an Admiral of the Fleet.

On the other end, Marcus sighed in irritation, "I've been briefed on that aspect, Commander. There's no need to repeat it. If he can't handle interacting with other races as a representative of this Federation, then he has no business being in that chair. I don't want to hear excuses for him, especially from you," the Admiral seethed, and again, Spock suppressed the urge to glare. He did permit his eyebrow to rise though.

"Admiral Marcus, is there a reason for your call other than to express unnecessary apologies? This is not my communication terminal, and I do not wish to offend the Altririans by monopolizing its use," Spock changed the subject; he did not wish to hear his captain's abilities slandered anymore more than they already were.

"Direct and to the point, that's why I like you son," Marcus started, and straightened up in his chair slightly. "I wanted to know how the mission is coming along? Have you gotten a treaty signed yet? As you can imagine, we're all a bit anxious back at Headquarters on the outcome of this…"

Spock's shoulders slacked a fraction, and he resisted the urge to avert his eyes to anywhere that wasn't Marcus' imploring expression. He did not wish to further infuriate the man with what would undoubtedly be received as _bad news_, but he saw no other way to avoid it.

"I…regret to inform you, Admiral, that the Altririans have declined admission," Spock answered quietly. He knew it was not the answer the Admiral would want to hear, but he had no other one to give at that moment. The Ambassador had yet to change his mind.

Marcus' eyes widened. "_Declined?_ What the hell, Commander? I specifically had Kirk leave you on that planet because of who you are! You're the son of an Ambassador! This mission should've been easy for you!" Marcus fumed as he shot out of his chair and planted his hands flatly on the desk.

"My _father_ is an Ambassador, Admiral, but that has no bearing as to the success of this mission. I am not my father," Spock retorted stiffly. To think that he had been chosen purely because he was Sarek's son was irritating. Yes, he did have more diplomatic experience than the captain, but that did not mean he would be able to perform as adequately as his father might have done in this situation, thus such a comparison was illogical.

Marcus glared at him and sat back down. "You're right, Commander. You're not an Ambassador, and perhaps if Kirk hadn't screwed up this mission so gloriously in the beginning, you would've stood a chance. This is the last straw for him…"

Spock, who had been glancing down at his clenched fists snapped his head up and peered at the Admiral sharply. "Admiral Marcus, sir, this mission did not fail because of Captain Kirk. He is not in attendance, therefore it is not logical, nor fair to place the blame with him," Spock declared in an almost heated tone.

"He might not be _in attendance, _Commander, but he started this mission, and he set the tone. He's the Captain, and the success of any mission given to him is his responsibility," Marcus explained sternly.

Spock felt his ears heat up. "But I am the one here on the planet, Admiral. Therefore, the responsibility lies with me," Spock tried to reason, doing his best not to let the panic or anger show in his voice. The last thing he wanted was for Jim, who wasn't even there to defend himself, to take the fall for something he had not done. To lose his Captaincy over a mission he had not been able to oversee. It was not fair; at all.

"I know that, Commander," Marcus leveled his eyes at him. "Thank you for taking the time to clear that up," he finished sarcastically, making Spock purse his lips. The Admiral then sighed and began pacing his office, or at least that's where Spock assumed he was. "But while you're there, you represent your ship, and therefore you represent your Captain. Any actions you do or do not make on that planet reflect directly upon him. I told him that this mission was of paramount importance, and that this was his last chance to prove to Command that he had what it took to be a captain. He didn't listen to me, and therefore the consequences must be rendered…" Marcus finished just as he shifted back into his seat, indicating that he was about to cut the connection. Logically, Spock assumed that after he finished conversing with him, he would waste no time in contacting the Enterprise, wherever she was at that moment, and inform Jim of Spock's failure, and that it would cost him his Captaincy.

Instantly Spock felt as if ice water had just been thrown on him. He could not allow something like that to come to pass. It actually pained him to even think about Jim receiving such a call, and knowing that because of Spock, because he had failed as a diplomat and a First Officer, he would be forced to give up the Enterprise.

Unacceptable.

"Admiral," Spock started firmly, and urgently.

Immediately Marcus halted the arm he'd outstretched to disconnect them, and looked at Spock questionably.

Spock took a deep breath, he had not wanted to admit this, but it seemed he had little choice. Perhaps if Marcus understood the full reasoning's for why Altriri IV had declined admission, he would have no doubt as to why Jim could not be blamed.

"The reason why the High Council decided against admission is because…"

Spock told him everything, starting with his first night on the planet. He told him how receptive some of the council members had been for admission, specifically the Ambassador; as well as those who still held insecurities about it. He told the Admiral how the High Priest had visited him late that night in his temporary quarters and propositioned him for sexual intercourse; and, the Vulcan had to admit, that revelation had been hard for him to voice. Spock had went on to tell him how he had declined the offer, and how Priest S'teth had immediately threatened him with admission; how if Spock did not engage in sexual intercourse with him, that he would use his influence to sway the High Council's decision. He went on to explain how the very next day; Spock had been informed by Ambassador Qu'ale, that under S'teth's advice, they would _not_ be joining the Federation.

Through it all, Marcus kept his face oddly blank, much like a Vulcan would do. And for a moment at the end of his explanation, Spock wondered if the Admiral had comprehended anything he had just said.

"Admiral? Do you understand what I have just relayed to you?" Spock probed as he squinted his eyes to better gauge the expression on the other man's face.

It was a full twenty-two seconds before the Admiral finally spoke. "Let me get this straight…" Marcus started as he clasped his hands together in front of his face. Spock watched him carefully and tried to predict his response. "You're telling me that this Priest…"

"High Priest, Admiral," Spock corrected out of reflex.

"Whatever," Marcus responded dismissively before continuing, "this _S'teth _attempted to get into bed with you, and you declined, and it pissed him off, and so now he's used his influence that _no one_ knew about to convince the High Council of Atriri IV not to sign the treaty. That _is_ what you're telling me, right?"

Spock clasped his hands tightly behind his back. "Affirmative, which is why Captain Kirk is not to blame," he replied, making sure to hit on that point again for emphasis. Surely after confiding this information to the Admiral, the man would understand, and everything would be okay. Jim would not lose his ship, and Marcus would see why the Altririan's could not be reasoned with.

"You're _telling_ me, that the whole reason we're about to lose a prospective planet here…is…is because you can't suck it up and let this guy fuck you?"

Whatever Spock had expected to hear, it definitely had not been that, and for a moment, he could not speak. He could not respond, and when he finally found his voice, it was small, and hesitant. It did not sound Vulcan at all.

"Admiral?"

"What I'd like an answer to, _Commander, _is why you'd throw away this mission all because of your refusal to have a little bit of sex. There are a lot worse things," Marcus deadpanned, his eyes dark and glaring. Spock blinked at him, unwilling to believe what he was hearing. Really, the more appropriate question was why this mission was dependant on whether or not he had sex in the first place. The entire premise was illogical. Not to mention…illegal. Perhaps Spock should clarify that.

"Admiral Marcus, might I remind that you that according to regulation 52.363, to perform sexual favors as a means to gain political influence is illegal in the Federation; is that not what you are suggesting?" Spock asked loudly, and with a hint of disbelief. This was the Head of Starfleet; therefore the very last person Spock would imagine breaking regulations.

Suddenly the Admiral looked infuriated, and Spock almost flinched under the drastic shift in facial expression. He was standing again in that menacing way when he responded, "_don't_ you quote those damn regulations to me, Commander! I know Starfleet law, but we cannot—_cannot—_afford to lose this planet to the Romulans, do you understand me?"

Behind him, Spock was aware that his hands had begun to shake with tension, and dare he say it…anger. "Admiral, I realize the severity of the situation, but I cannot do what you ask." _No Vulcan could._ "I am Vulcan, we do not…I cannot allow myself to become compromised in such a way…" Spock finished almost desperately. It wasn't just the violation of Starfleet regulation that deterred him from engaging in sexual intercourse with the Priest. No, it was so much more than that. To do such a thing, to allow the Priest to do such a thing given the Altririan empathic ability…

Not only was it highly immoral to a Vulcan, but also, it could be dangerous.

_Did the Admiral not understand this?_

For what seemed like hours, but was only forty-five seconds, Marcus just stared at him, and Spock found himself looking away much to his shame.

Finally, the man spoke, effectively breaking the awkward silence that had ghosted across the room. "You're right, Commander. I cannot ask you to compromise yourself in such a way. I know how…private you Vulcans are about such things," he explained in a soft tone, yet there was something else there, something mocking.

Spock refused to get irritated. Marcus obviously did not know much about Vulcan privacy or culture, especially to ask him to do such a thing. However, he would keep his silence. He was still the subordinate officer in this conversation.

"And I can't _make_ you have sex with this priest, but just know that because of this…you've lost the Federation a planet, and, your _Captain_ can kiss that chair goodbye, that's all I've got to say about it," he finished and sat back down in the chair. He then reached forward to cut the connection again.

Spock however, who had gone wide-eyed, put his hand on the screen in desperation. It was an illogical gesture, but he could not quell it. "Wait," the Vulcan started just as dread engulfed him. Marcus paused and quirked his lips slightly, an errant glint in his eyes while he waited for Spock start speaking again. "I…I will do it," he finished in such a small voice that he would not be surprised if the Admiral had not even heard him.

"That is…very good news, Commander," Marcus started approvingly and rubbed his hands together. "Can I ask what persuaded you? Was it the fact that you'd fail your duty as a Starfleet officer by _not_ doing this? Or…more accurately, was it the prospect of me demoting Kirk?" he asked knowingly, prompting Spock to gaze at him sharply, thereby affirming the man's second theory. "Ah…I thought so. You know, out of all the people that boy has managed to win over, you're the last person I would've expected to stand by him."

Spock gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Marcus did not know him personally, so what actions he expected Spock to make were unfounded. However, he was reluctant to point that out. Instead, he decided to confirm for himself that, should he engage in something that he dreaded with every fiber of his being, that his Captain, _Jim, _would be safe from demotion. He might have failed as a diplomat on this mission, and soon he might fail as a Vulcan as well, but he would not fail as Jim's friend, even if the captain did not consider him one anymore.

"I will do as you ask, Admiral, on one condition…"

"Name it."

"That should I engage in sexual congress with Priest S'teth; I wish to have your word that, despite the outcome of the mission, James Kirk will remain the Captain of the Enterprise," Spock stated in a formidable tone.

If he could save Jim's captaincy, if it was in his power to do so, he would do it, no matter the personal cost. There was nothing in the world Jim valued more than the Enterprise, and Spock would sooner shame himself a thousand times over than be the one responsible for her being taken away from him. But, given the nature of what he was about to do, he wanted the Admiral's assurance that Jim would be safe from such a fate. After all, there was still no guarantee that the Altririans would sign a treaty, even if he and the Priest copulated.

Marcus regarded him with a sly smirk before responding. "Done. But let's make one thing undeniably clear here, Commander." Abruptly, Marcus' expression shifted into something serious, and he leaned forward on his desk. "I'm not asking you to do this; you're doing this on _your_ own accord, and by _your_ own free will. This conversation? It never happened. If word of this gets out, it's going to be _your_ ass, not mine, and something tells me that the Vulcans…well…" he let his voice trail off a bit. "Something tells me they wouldn't be too _happy_ about what you're about to get up to, if they found out."

"Is that all, Admiral," Spock cut in icily, not missing that the man was merely placing assurances that if word of this _did _get out, the fault would not lie with him, but with Spock instead. According to Marcus, should it come to a Court Martial, Spock will have acted of his own free will with the Priest, and without outside influence, thereby keeping Marcus from an injunction. It did not help that the current conversation was taking place over an alien communications terminal; therefore, he could not record the exchange. Therefore, it would be his word against the Head of Starfleet's.

Also, it had been obvious that Marcus knew enough about Vulcans to know that Spock would never admit to his father, or his people, what he had agreed to do. For them to know, it would only shame him, and to a degree, the Admiral had been correct in that facet. For, if Spock had not failed in convincing the Altririans that accepting admission into the Federation was in their best interest, he would not be in this situation in the first place. Priest S'teth's _advice_ would have gone ignored in the face of such a fruitful alliance had he done his job as a diplomat to the Federation. If he had been able to utilize his logic in a manner acceptable to a Vulcan, he would not be resorting to illegal methods of persuasion.

His father, he knew, would be extremely disappointed in him.

And so would Jim, Spock imagined; if he ever found out the lengths Spock had gone to. If he ever found out that Spock, a person who valued logic and adherence to the rules above all things had done something so…distasteful…

"That's all, Commander. I'll expect a _modified _report when the time comes. I better not hear about this again. That priest's name better not even be hinted at in _anything_ that comes across my desk."

"Understood, Admiral," Spock bit out and wasted no time in cutting the connection. He was aware of how rude that probably had been toward a ranking officer; to cut the connection first; but it couldn't be helped. He couldn't bear to look at that man in the face any longer.

((oOo))

The walk back to his room was the longest one he had ever taken in the palace thus far. Spock had been practically starving before, but now, he could barely feel that twisting hunger in the face of this new development. In a way, the _talk _he had just had with Admiral Marcus felt unreal; like it had never happened. It was almost as if Spock had imagined the entire thing because there was just _no_ logical way those words had come out of a Starfleet Admiral's mouth.

Except that they had.

The entire conversation had been real. Spock had not imagined it, as much as he would have preferred for that to have happened.

Just before he had arrived back to his room, Spock met Ch'iora by chance out in the corridor, and it was almost as if fate was telling him to '_get a move on'_ as a human would say. It took Spock quite a bit of self-convincing, but eventually he forced himself to ask Ch'iora to seek out the High Priest, and inform him that his presence was requested in his quarters. The servant had given him a knowing look that Spock was not sure how to interpret, but nevertheless obeyed the request and disappeared off down the corridor. He certainly did not want to _get a move on_, but he also did not wish to prolong the inevitable.

A part of him; perhaps his human half; wished to do just that; but Spock knew that the longer he put it off, the more likely it would be that he would back out, and he honestly did not know which half of himself would be the responsible one in that endeavor, his Vulcan half? Or his human half, for they both protested the action he was about to perform.

Not entirely sure how long it would be until S'teth arrived, Spock sat himself down on his mediation mat and attempted to enter into a light trance. He didn't bother changing into his meditation robes because it would waste too much time. He would need every ounce of control he was capable of to face what would likely be the most unpleasant experience of his life. It probably would have been logical to at least wait a day or two; to meditate as frequently as possible, but again Spock thought it better to get the distasteful—_illegal_ experience over with before his shields decided to completely fail him the longer he stayed there on this planet.

As Spock sat there in front of the blazing fireplace, his palms lying face up on his thighs, his thoughts unintentionally landed on Jim. He could not help but wish to speak with his captain, the man whose company he yearned for more and more in the past year. Though he knew without a doubt that what was about to happen in this room would never reach the Jim's knowledge, he still could not quell the illogical wish to talk to him about it. To seek out the guidance and comfort that only a human; a friend; seemed apt to provide in this particular situation. Spock wanted to ask him if he was making a big mistake. He wanted to ask him if this…if this _fear_ he was beginning to experience in the deep pit of his stomach was normal before sexual intercourse, or if it was just something normal to feel before committing and illegal act in general. Or, if what he was really afraid of, was losing control of his emotions, or more importantly…losing them to the empathic priest. Perhaps it was all three.

Was a treaty worth that? Worth these feelings? Was a captaincy? Spock was so unsure, and something told him that Jim, Jim would have those answers for him. Jim would know exactly what to do if he were here. If the past year had proven anything to Spock, it had been that in the face of an illogical crisis, Captain Kirk had always known how to approach them, and solve them amicably by some illogical means that remarkably…turned out to be a quite logical solution.

This situation certainly served as an illogical crisis in Spock's mind, and it was something that his _logic_ was not helping him solve in the slightest.

As the minutes in front of the fireplace passed by, Spock's mind kept going back to one blaring question; _was_ the acts he intended to participate in this evening _worth_ a Captaincy?

_Yes, _Spock instantly thought the fifth time his brain supplied the question. _Yes it was._ Spock's own personal comfort and safety paled in comparison to Jim's in his eyes. His job as First Officer was to protect his Captain. Was this not a form of that? In some small way? By deciding to do this unspeakable thing, was he not protecting Jim? Or for that matter, the Federation from the loss of a brilliant Captain?

A loud, boisterous rapping on the door brought Spock out of his uneasy musings, and his heart sank. There was no doubt in his mind who the knocker was this time.

"Come," Spock said in a surprisingly loud voice just as he picked himself up off the floor. His face felt hot and flush, and Spock honestly wasn't sure if it was just a side-effect from sitting so close and in front of the fireplace, or if his emotions had begun to affect him on a physical scale. Behind him he heard the door open, and when he turned around he was staring into the irritated face of Priest S'teth.

"Priest S'te…" he started.

"I hope you have a good reason for calling me here, _Commander_," the alien spat as he came barging into the room, his large arms resting on his clothed hips. Unlike the last time Spock had seen him, the priest was back in his robe; his muscled, tattooed chest hidden from view.

_Not for long,_ Spock thought in a foreboding voice just before S'teth continued. "I was in the middle of dinner, and I'd rather not waste time in your presence when it gains me nothing," he hissed in disdain, and Spock could practically feel the irritation flowing off the large alien in waves. His head throbbed minutely, but Spock pushed the sensation away. It was unacceptable and embarrassing to lose this much control before the copulation even began.

Spock took a deep breath and chanced a step closer, his back losing the heat of the fireplace as he did so. "I believe you will find my reasoning to be to your satisfaction, Priest," he explained, his voice almost cracking on the word, _'satisfaction'. _

S'teth raised an eyebrow, and the defensive stance he had been holding relaxed a bit when his arms slipped off his hips and lingered at his sides. "Oh?" he probed curiously, almost eagerly.

Spock took another deep breath. This was much more difficult than he had anticipated it would be. "Yes. I wish to…accept your offer." It was stated quietly, but the alien had still heard him, and the smile that plastered his golden hued face was positively gleaming.

"My…offer?" he asked, but from the way he stated it, Spock had no doubt in his mind that the priest knew exactly what offer he was referring to.

"Affirmative. Two days, thirteen hours, twenty-three minutes and three seconds ago, you propositioned me to engage in sexual intercourse with you, and I declined."

The priest laughed at his approximation. "Indeed you did, Vulcan. I was…most unhappy about it, too. And, as you've come to find out, it doesn't bode well for people when I'm unhappy."

"Based on my observations, I can concur that to be a valid statement," Spock replied bitterly, and to his disdain, the alien began to step closer to him. Spock resisted the urge to back away from the advance. He did this by forcing himself to speak instead. "I have reconsidered my position on your offer. I will accept in exchange for…"

"For a signed treaty, right?" the priest finished for him, and by then was so close to Spock that the Vulcan could smell the remnants of the meal he had been eating moments ago.

"That is correct."

The alien chuckled through a closed mouth, and traced his large finger down Spock's clothed chest; he then leaned in and inhaled his scent in an embellished fashion. Again, Spock resisted the natural instinct to step away; especially when he felt the uncomfortable tug on his shields that the inhalation caused him. Inwardly he told himself that at that moment, his shields did not matter, for by the end of the night, he would have to endure much more than faulty shields. Logically, he would have to come to terms with that; he would have to prepare himself.

"So, let me just clarify, in case something was lost in translation. Are you telling me…" S'teth leaned in closer past Spock's head until his nose was trailing his left pointed ear; the act sent a shiver down his spine, and the Vulcan forced his eyes to focus on the door across the room. "That I will be…what is the standard term?" S'teth paused, leaned back and placed a finger tenderly on his chin in thought. "Ah yes, _fucking_ you tonight? That all that you are…will become mine?"

Spock felt something cold coil inside him, and he could not help the shudder that passed through his entire being as a wave of overwhelming, animalistic lust swarmed him.

"I would not phrase it…so crudely…" he started, and instantly S'teth narrowed his dark eyes at him.

"But I insist that you do, Vulcan. If your Starfleet treaty is as important as you claim it to be, you will obey my every wish…" S'teth raised his hand again trailed a finger down Spock's cheek. "My every need…" the finger traced across his lips, and Spock shut his eyes in response to a sharp pang in his temple. "My every…_command_," he finally finished in a much darker tone, and the fingers he had been tracing across the Vulcan's lips moved down to his chin where they forcibly embraced it, and tilted it upward; forcing his head up to face the taller alien. "Open your eyes." The order was cold and demanding, and through the physical contact, Spock felt an immense increase in the unfathomable lust and desire that the priest held for him; as well as something darker. If Spock had to identify it, he would say it was an emotion he had never felt from another sentient being; an almost primitive need to attain, and to take.

Spock opened his eyes and looked up into the lecherous orbs peering down at him. For the first time that night, he regretted his decision to agree to Marcus' terms.

"Ah yes, such beautiful eyes. They are…so full of delicious emotion…" Another inhalation caused Spock's impassive expression to falter from discomfort, and he couldn't help the trickle of fear that cascaded through him as his shields continued to be picked and tugged at. He should have endeavored to meditate before engaging in such an act. He should have known he would regret that decision.

"You are…afraid?" S'teth asked in slight surprise, and Spock cursed himself inwardly. Had his shields already begun to falter that much so as to be read so easily? Weak. He was so weak.

"Negative, I am Vulcan, I do not…"

"Oh, don't be coy with me, Spock. I can smell your fear. You cannot hide it from me as I've already told you," S'teth laughed, and let go of Spock's chin. Despite the physical retreat, the tugging sensation still remained.

Spock glared at him, making him laugh again. "It is not a significant amount, and it is only just there, but it is there. You fear me."

"I do not fear you," Spock started defiantly, and before he knew it the priest had grabbed him by the shoulders, shifted him abruptly around, and pushed him all the way backward until his back hit the wall next to the door with a hard thud. In an instant the alien's oversized hands were pinning his wrists high above his head, and his face was leaned down, and centimeters away from Spock's.

Spock was Vulcan; therefore he was much stronger than a human. However, the Altririan's were much stronger than Vulcans, which was unfortunate in this case. It meant that the priest could do anything he wanted to Spock, and there really was not much he could do about it; save a nerve pinch. But to administer a Vulcan nerve pinch, one needed access to hands; hands that were currently pinned high above his head.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"If you do not fear me now…you will, _Vulcan_," S'teth seethed as he retracted a single hand from Spock's pinned wrists and let it drop to the waistband of the Vulcan's black pants. Inside, Spock felt the urge to fight, to struggle, to stop this from happening, but he remained silent and still. To fight would only anger the alien, and then the mission would fail. Spock could not allow that to happen. Or at least, that's what he told himself, because to admit that he really was helpless was too difficult.

"You see," S'teth started, and Spock became grossly aware of the alien's hand as it thrust itself inside the front of his pants, and over his briefs. "Out of all the emotions, fear is my favorite," the hand on his briefs began roughly palming his length, and Spock couldn't help but squirm under the touch. It was so unwanted. "_Fear_ is the most intense…the most delicious…" the other hand still on his wrist gripped tighter as the one in his pants ceased in its ministrations, and slipped inside his briefs until Spock could feel S'teth's warm flesh gripping his penis.

Spock gasped from the touch, and so did S'teth. No one had ever touched him there in such a way, and he wasn't prepared for it.

"Ahhhh yes…your skin is so lovely…you feel so good," he cooed as he began running his hand up and down Spock's shaft with much more intensity. Spock's back went rigid against the wall he'd been forced up against, and he clenched his eyes shut. That was the one form of escape he could manage for himself. He was so full of tension and disgust at the act being done to him that he could not look at the alien any longer. He did not want S'teth to touch him like this. His entire being protested against it, and to the alien's dismay…so did his body.

"You…you do not want to become hard for me? Prized Vulcan?" S'teth asked in exasperation as he began thrusting his fully clothed and much larger hips into Spock; perfectly in sync with the violent pumping.

Before he could answer, another violent tug at his mental shields caused Spock to gasp in pain. Apparently, the alien had increased his efforts to break past his mental wall and feed on his emotions.

"Oh, don't do that…I'm not hurting you, now open your eyes. Keep your eyes _open_!" S'teth chastised and gave Spock a particularly harsh tug on his penis that made him gasp again in pain, and to his shame, he found himself opening his eyes. With all the effort it took to keep the priest out of his mind, he could not control the pain he felt from the added physical stimulus; it required too much focus and energy, which at the time was being utilized on keeping his shields erect. An endeavor that was failing with every passing second.

His pained gasp only satisfied the alien in front of him, a satisfaction he could feel radiating off of the priest in waves.

"_That's_ hurting you, and if I want you to hurt, you will hurt. Now, why do you not get hard for me?" the satisfied expression quickly transpired into a feigned frown. "Do you not desire me? I want you to desire me…"

If Spock had not been in such a compromising position, he would have asked clarification on how the alien expected him to both fear _and_ desire him simultaneously. But given how it was _his_ wrists against the wall, and a foreign hand groping and rubbing at _his_ length, it did not seem like an appropriate time to voice such thoughts. Admitting to S'teth that he could _never_ desire him also seemed like an illogical route to take.

"I…I apologize…I…" Spock attempted just as his breath hitched; the alien had increased his speed again, making it very difficult to speak. "I do not know how…" and it wasn't a lie. Spock honestly did not know how he could make himself desire this creature in front of him.

Abruptly, S'teth paused in his rough stroking, and glared at Spock in disbelief.

"You…you are a virgin?"

That wasn't exactly what the Vulcan had meant, but the alien's observation wasn't unfounded either.

Spock swallowed. This had not been something he had wanted to admit, but it was the only truth he had been comfortable with giving in that situation. To admit that he did not desire the priest would only likely anger him.

"I am," he answered quietly.

S'teth's eyes widened a fraction, and he let Spock's wrists drop ungracefully to his sides. Errantly, he wished he could rub at the portion of skin where the alien's hand had been, holding him too harshly under superior strength.

"To males?" S'teth added ingenuously, as if the mere prospect of Spock being a complete virgin was just bizarre and unheard of.

"To males and females," Spock began to clarify in a stronger voice. "Vulcan culture…it is not like your own. We do not take copulation lightly. We are monogamous. We mate with those who we would choose a life with," he endeavored to explain firmly, and he was reluctant to hope that maybe, just maybe the alien would now understand why he did not wish to engage in sexual intercourse. Perhaps now, S'teth would know how offensive he found this entire thing. How difficult it was to allow the priest to touch him in such a way.

His hope was shattered though with S'teth's next words. "That makes this even more exciting, more_ thrilling_," he leaned into Spock and answered excitedly; that same excitement bubbling into Spock, making him inwardly tremble. "To know that I will be the first being to touch _this_ skin," S'teth purred into Spock's ear while stroking a hand down his cheek. "To know that I will be the first claim such perfection for myself, and that through me…you will abandon all that your culture holds dear. It is so irresistible," he continued as he shifted and snaked his hands around Spock's back, gripped his posterior, and pulled him closer into an embrace. The alien's hot breath ghosted across his neck as he inhaled his scent, and Spock shuddered at the assault, yet again, on his mental shields.

But there was something else causing his inner turmoil.

Everything S'teth had just stated was true, and it hurt to think about. This alien _would_ be his first sexual experience, and that was deeply lamentable. He had imagined such an experience happening in several different ways, and none of them included this scenario in front of him. For one thing, he had always assumed the person he chose would be the person he would spend the rest of his life with; his chosen bondmate. A person he could, and would willingly share his mind and dreams with.

S'teth was not that person, not in the slightest, and it was…regrettable that he would be the person who saw Spock most intimately; who felt him so intimately.

Just before the tug on his mind became too great and effectively broke through his feeble shields, S'teth let him out of the embrace, and set off toward the pallet; all the while divesting himself of his ceremonial robe. He had no pants on, so when the robe hit the stone floor, the priest had become completely naked. Spock eyed the bold, hieroglyphic tattoos on his back with unease. He used to wonder what they meant, and had every means of translating the calligraphy. He didn't anymore.

When S'teth arrived to the pallet, he turned back to Spock, and his gaze turned utterly lecherous as he took himself in hand. Spock refused to look at the sizable erection the alien sported; the erection that would soon invade him in the most personal of ways. He had researched enough about sex to know how it was performed.

"Come here, Vulcan," he commanded, and brought his coiling finger up for emphasis.

Spock let his eyes slide shut, and began to take a series of deep breaths. He had thought himself prepared. He was an adult, and while Vulcans might not place light emphasis on the act of sex, he was half-human, and humans had a much more casual outlook on such activities. Therefore, he _should_ be able to handle this. He had been counting on his human half to get him through this, and approach it with more dignity.

But…he could not.

_Think of Jim, think of this mission, both of their futures depend on what you do here, _his Vulcan half told him, willing him to move forward, to respond to the command given to him.

"Spock," the alien deadpanned with a hint of impatience. "Come. Here."

Despite lacking the mental fortitude to obey, Spock's body seemed to take control and before he knew it, he was walking the distance between them. His feet felt unbearably heavy, and only got heavier as he progressed.

"Ah, that's a good Vulcan," S'teth cooed appreciatively. "Now, I wish for you to take off your clothes. Start with that magnificent blue tunic."

Spock hesitated, much to the alien's dismay.

"If you wish for this treaty to be signed, Commander, you will do as I ask. I like for my partners to be acquiescent. Compliant. I like for them to obey my requests. You will please me in every facet, or your mission will fail. Now. Take. Off. Your. _Clothes,_" S'teth commanded darkly, and with a hint of malice in his voice. Spock knew that as the High Priest, the individual in front of him was obviously used to getting what he wanted and from whomever he wanted it from. However much Spock was disinclined to obey, he knew that that was not an option. Jim was unknowingly counting on him.

Taking the hem of his blue shirt in hand, Spock tugged it upward and off, and let it fall to the floor. The act ruffled his perfectly combed hair, but he made no move to smooth it out. S'teth eyed his bare chest hungrily and made a low growl of approval before signaling to the rest of Spock's clothing. "Well, come on then. Quit being so slow."

Spock complied in silence and groped for the button and zipper of his pants. His hands felt utterly foreign to him as he slid those down and off as well, exposing his bare legs to the atmosphere. Despite the raging fireplace behind the pallet, his legs; his body; had grown considerably colder. The pants gone, Spock moved to his briefs. He could not keep his gaze trained on the priest when he removed those as well.

"What did I say about those eyes?" the alien chastised, and Spock met his gaze again blankly.

There was nothing hiding his body from the priest now, and if he felt cold before, he was utterly frozen now as S'teth inspected him shamelessly.

"Magnificent," he appraised him and licked his lips. He then motioned to the pallet where he had seated himself up against the large pillows, his legs sprawled out in front of him as he lazily stroked his own engorged penis, which, to Spock's horror, seemed to be grotesque in its size. It definitely was larger than a human's or a Vulcan's own genitals. "The coloring of your…anatomy is most pleasing to me, so unique," the alien went on.

Despite it being a compliment, Spock could not help but feel colder, and he instinctively moved his hands to cover his flaccid genitals which were starkly different than the other set in the room. He did not wish for the priest's eyes to linger over them; to inspect and analyze them as he was doing at the moment.

"Aww, do not be shy, virgin. Come…sit next to me," S'teth taunted playfully and began rubbing the hand that wasn't encircled around his length on the space beside him; prompting Spock to move.

With great reluctance, Spock did just that. He tried desperately to feel the heat from the fireplace, but for some odd reason, he could not. Much too quickly, he found himself shoulder to shoulder with S'teth on the pallet where he'd just sat down. The priest wasted no time and immediately began groping Spock's chest, his legs, his hips, and…his penis. The action sent a flurry of emotions into him, and Spock winced as a result. In every place where the priest's hands roamed, in their wake left an illogical icy sensation.

"Your flesh is so soft and smooth," he breathed out huskily and shifted his body toward the Vulcan. He then grabbed Spock's hand—which had still been covering his genitals—and brought it to his own organ. Spock allowed his hand to be taken, but he did not find it pleasing at all. The organ was hot and firm; and it twitched from his touch.

"Ahhhh, yes. So soft and smooth," S'teth panted as he flung his head back, and forced Spock's hand to rub the length of his throbbing penis. "Can you feel how this makes me feel, Spock? You are…" he paused and gasped at a particular motion caused by Spock's hand, "…you are a touch telepath, so…so can you feel this?" he finished and thrusted into Spock's hand.

Spock did not wish to speak, in fact, he would prefer not to speak throughout this entire ordeal, lest his words betray him. "It is within my abilities to feel your emotions," he whispered while keeping his eyes glued to the door where he imagined himself running through it, and away from this nightmare. He could not bear to look at the alien's face, or watch his hand that was currently betraying him with each forced stroke.

"What do you feel from me?" S'teth probed in a slightly high-pitched voice as he increased the speed and intensity of Spock's massaging.

"Desire, lust, need," he listed off in monotone, his voice blank and devoid of emotion.

"What is it that I _desire_, Spock. Tell me…" Spock could feel a growing annoyance from the other, and he was not sure why.

"Through the contact, I can discern that you desire to mate with me," Spock answered in an even more impassive voice, it was getting harder and harder to keep up conversation, especially conversation such as this. Suddenly the annoyance he had been feeling turned into anger, and Spock winced as it battered against his shields.

"Must you always _speak_ like that? Like a computer?" S'teth snapped and thrust Spock's hand away roughly. He would not admit it, but he was grateful that his hand was once again free.

"I do not mean to cause offense, it is the way I speak, it is the way of my people," Spock explained stoically, and this time he allowed himself to glare at the alien in defiance. "I will not change those aspects merely for your benefit." Was he not dishonoring himself enough just by permitting this to go on?

S'teth glared nastily at him, and his anger brought on another wave of mental pain. "Then we shall put your mouth to other uses if you refuse to speak like a normal being," S'teth spat in disdain right before grabbing Spock by the back of the head, and forcing his face down into his groin.

Instinctively Spock attempted to recoil, to throw the alien's hold off of him; but the strong, sizeable hand held him fast, and pressed his face harder into his genital area. S'teth's other hand pressed into his naked back in an effort to keep him still; which, considering Altririan strength, was not a difficult feat. Spock winced as the throbbing organ pressed firmly into his lips and up into his nostrils. The smell that permeated off of it was strange, and repulsive, and the liquid that slicked across his face almost made him gag. His headache flared with renewed vigor as emotion after emotion pounded into him.

"You will soon learn to change any aspect I wish about you, Spock, when we are together," S'teth hissed and thrust himself upward, but Spock kept his lips firmly shut. He was confused about this form of intimacy. From what he had been taught on sexual intercourse, his mouth was not a part of the act, and he did not understand what the priest wished him to do. S'teth caught onto his confused hesitance.

"Suck," S'teth ordered darkly, and pushed down on Spock's head for emphasis. The Vulcan however, still did not understand the request. Or, more importantly, he did not _wish_ to understand.

"I…I do not…understand," Spock tried in a muffled tone because the organ currently pressed against his mouth and nose made in extremely difficult to speak coherently.

S'teth laughed hollowly. "My, my, my, you _are_ a virgin, aren't you! Oh! the fun we will have tonight!" he laughed again before continuing in a much more controlled and collected tone. "What I wish for you to do, Vulcan, is open your mouth, take my _D'vesha; _or, as your language dictates; _dick,_ into it, and when you have done that, I wish for you to _suck_."

Spock stilled, and almost forgot how to breathe. Surely the alien did not mean…

"Now! Open your mouth! Damn you!" he bellowed irately as all the amusement left him and yanked Spock's head painfully up by his hair, "or this deal is off!" he finished menacingly before thrusting the Vulcan's head back down into his lap.

Spock did not want to; his entire body protested against it, but he found himself obeying anyway. His duty, this _treaty_ outweighed his wishes, and he opened his mouth. Not a second went by before the alien thrust his thick, large organ all the way into his mouth, and Spock choked as it stabbed the back of his throat and consumed the entire orifice.

The taste was vile, repulsive, and the only thing he could think of was how much he _did not_ want to be doing this. S'teth did not care though, he merely moaned in gratification as his hand worked Spock's head up and down against the grotesque organ over and over. The headache that had transpired into a migraine screamed in newfound agony as his shields fought and struggled to maintain their defense. He could feel the priest's empathy attempting to weave into his mind, to unlock his defenses and take his emotions while instilling his own.

"Suck, Vulcan. Or this will be much worse for you. I will dive into your mind right now, and take everything you hold dear," he threatened, and to his shame, Spock began to suck. If he could hold off the mental assault that he knew would eventually come until the last possible minute…he would.

S'teth moaned gutturally as his fingers fisted in Spock's hair, and instantly Spock felt the mental attack that had been brewing begin to recede. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder in an attempt to please the alien. He would do anything at that moment to keep S'teth out of his head for as long as possible. There was no help here to aid him should his mind become damaged by a mental attack. It was…logical to keep such an attack from happening.

"Yesssss….that's it, just like that…very good…you are very good at this," he keened and began thrusting his hips up into Spock's mouth, making him gag from the force of it. At some point, the alien's other hand left his back and slithered back to the globes of his ass cheeks to massage the pliant flesh there. By that time, Spock had clenched his eyes shut and continued to concentrate on one thing…sucking the organ in his mouth. He could not divert extra energy to what was happening to his posterior, or he would lose his focus and his will to go on doing this.

A single finger began to probe the crevice of his ass cheeks, and a second later, the finger slipped in between them and pushed into his clenched, tight entrance.

Spock stiffened at that and abruptly made to sit up, his focus effectively shattered. Suprisingly, S'teth allowed him to retract his head with a chuckle.

"What are you doing?" Spock chanced hesitantly, refusing to gag as the taste of the alien's penis lingered on the tip of his tongue.

"Oh that's adorable, Vulcan. Surely you know what I am about to do, what I wish to do," S'teth laughed while he made to get up on his knees, and used his hands to push Spock back down and onto his belly. "Do not move. Lie still like that."

"Please…" Spock started desperately, for he had several ideas as to what was about to happen, and his instinct for self-preservation had taken over. He did not wish to experience this. It was too much, and he did not think he would be able to handle it. Would the mission fail? Yes, but Spock could not do this. The cost was too high. He didn't know what he had been thinking when he agreed to do this. "Please do not…" he pleaded again just as S'teth's large Altririan fingers slithered back between his cheeks, and probed intrusively at his entrance.

S'teth paused. "If you wish me to stop, Spock…I will. I will not rape you. But you know what will happen if you have me stop."

Spock didn't say anything; he couldn't as the words coursed through him, reminding him of what was at stake should he not endure this.

"Now…do you wish me to stop? I can leave right now, and pretend none of this ever happened. Just say the word…" the alien asked him in an almost playful tone, as if he knew Spock would not deny him.

At that moment, an image of Jim, sitting and smiling in the captain's chair invaded his mind. He had been turned around in the chair, smiling at Spock with that expressive smirk that only he could don. If he did not endure this, if he did not consent…then all would be lost. Marcus would take what Jim valued the most away from him. And it would all be because of Spock, because he could not engage in the simple act of intercourse. Because he had failed. Spock knew that what was about to taken from him was almost just as valuable; almost just as important as Jim's Starship; but in his eyes, why should he force Jim to give up the thing he valued most when Spock could not do the same?

"No…" Spock whispered in a nearly broken voice as he resigned himself to his fate. He would not be responsible for taking away the thing Jim valued most. He would give up his own values first before that happened, and for a brief moment Spock was stunned by the loyalty he harbored for his Captain; a loyalty that was capable putting him in this situation. Apparently, Jim meant a lot more to him than he had first ascertained. However, he could not ponder on that startling thought with the priest hovering behind him, infecting him with his words.

"No as in…you wish me to stop?" S'teth went on in amusement.

Of course Spock would have to shame himself further. "No…do not stop. Continue," he reiterated, hating the way his voice sounded.

"You want me to fuck you then?" S'teth went on, his hand already resuming its previous task inside the globes of his cheeks.

_Say it._

"…Yes."

Instantly, two fingers plunged into his opening, making him gasp in shock and pain. His body instinctively squirmed, but S'teth's strength held him still. "You are so tight, Vulcan. Relax…or this will be painful," he recommended as he worked his fingers in and out of Spock's aching channel. He then paused as if to consider something. "Well, I will not lie to you. This will be painful either way. You are a virgin, and…and I am very well endowed, especially to an alien of your size. You can barely take my fingers," S'teth's voice sounded excited at the declaration, and if his emotions were anything to go off of, Spock knew he _was_ excited, and eager at the prospect of his inevitable pain. There was a terran term used for individuals such as this; a sadist.

Seconds later, Spock felt the alien's fingers slip out of him, and an added weight pressed into the back of his thighs, effectively spreading them apart. "Spread your legs apart," he commanded in a clipped, impatient tone. The Vulcan complied, but Spock did not understand why he bothered with such a request when he was completing it himself by the use of his own legs. The Vulcan felt more weight press into his back, which told him that S'teth was leaning on him, and moments later he felt the alien inhale his scent again off the back of his neck. Spock winced at the blatant attack on his mental shields, but did not protest.

"Brace yourself…" A new forced pushed at the crevice of his posterior; a hot, and much thicker force. "Because I do not intend to be gentle. It is no fault of mine that you are so inexperienced, or that you are smaller than me," and no sooner had he finished his sentence when S'teth pushed his eager organ inside of Spock with considerable force.

Spock thought he had felt pain before with the priest's fingers, but that was nothing compared to having an erect, alien penis shoved inside of him with brutal speed. S'teth moaned loudly as he pushed his organ all the way into him. He felt rips and tears flood throughout his channel, and Spock could not help the sharp cry of pain that the action elicited. Since he was diverting all of his mental control to keeping the alien out of his head for as long as possible, he could not shield himself from the ripping pain that had exploded in his rectum. He did not know—he had not anticipated it feeling as painful as this.

"OH…_Gods _yes!" the priest astride him keened as he pulled all the way out and pushed back in harshly; the force of which sent the Vulcan sliding up the pallet; the silky fabric it was made out of making that endeavor all the more easier.

Spock whimpered again from the force, and through the contact, he could feel that this only excited S'teth, who gripped his hips harder as result picked up the pace.

"Yes…so tight…so perfect…all mine…" the alien continued to rant in between the plunging. Spock, to his shame, heard himself grunting painfully with each push. He could not help it; his posterior felt like it was on fire; like it was being torn apart. He wished to throw the alien off, to end this physical torture, but he could not. The alien was too strong, and too heavy. It did not stop him from trying though.

Lifting his trembling arms up, Spock attempted to push himself up and off the pallet in an effort to throw S'teth off. The pain was all he could think about. He wanted it to end. S'teth had said he would not force him, and he just wanted it to end.

He had only managed to rise a few inches when the priest shoved him back down and shoved his face into the pallet in fury. "Oh no…you had your chance, you cannot expect me to stop now. You've made your decision, and a _diplomat _always stands by their decisions..." he spat at him, and paused in his violent thrusts to wrench Spock's hands behind his back to a painful degree to keep him still and immobile. "Don't they, Spock," the alien pointed out sarcastically.

"Please, I cannot…it hurts…please stop…" Spock breathed out into the pallet, his voice slightly muffled. He had never begged before in his life, and it made him feel horrible inside. But he was so desperate for this to end.

S'teth laughed at his attempt to beg, and using one arm, aimed himself at Spock's entrance and shoved himself back inside. The Vulcan cried out as a result as the ripping pain returned in a most brutal fashion. "You think I care what hurts you?" S'teth asked and leaned his heavy body down and onto Spock's. "You are here for my pleasure, for my needs, I do not care for yours. You had your chance to back out, and that chance has come and gone," he breathed icily into the back of his neck as he rammed him to the hilt over and over. "You will take everything I give you. You wanted this, remember? And now I'm giving it to you…" S'teth exclaimed through haggard breathing as he once again picked up the pace.

Spock wished to grab the cloth of the pallet to keep himself from moving forward, or at least to give him something else to focus his pain on. But he could not, the alien easily held his arms still behind his back, bruising them with his harsh grip, as he continued fucking him into the silk, purple cloth. He opened his mouth to let out another plea, but he had barely wrapped his voice around the word '_please',_ when the large hand not holding his arms together pushed his face harshly down into the pallet.

"_Silence!"_ S'teth growled, pushed Spock's head back down again for emphasis, and retracted his hand. "Now. You will keep quiet. I am done listening to your pathetic pleas. You will stay silent and still," S'teth ordered just before going silent himself so that he could focus all of his attention onto his thrusts.

Spock did not utter another word. It would not do him any good anyway, and perhaps if he remained silent the priest would be finished with him sooner, and this nightmare would be over. The only thing that was audible in the room was the sound of the crackling fireplace, flesh slapping against flesh, the rapid breathing and grunting of the priest, and Spock's own minute whimpers and grunts that the pain forced him to make with each thrust. They were all sounds he would grow to hate.

It went on like that for several unbearable minutes until finally, the alien sighed in irritation, and exited him. At first Spock thought that that had been it. That the priest had gotten what he wanted, and now would leave him be. But when firm hands pulled him painfully up by the arms and flipped him over, he knew it was far from over, and that the worst had yet to happen.

"Wait here, and be still," S'teth ordered him before he stood up from the pallet. Spock stared at him blankly, refusing to look at the penis that was lightly coated in his own blood from some internal injury. S'teth regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "You are so beautiful like that, Spock," he cooed before disappearing across the room. Spock might have followed him with his gaze, but he was so tired, and in so much pain that all he could was lie there, helpless. He was not aware he had closed his eyes in a sort of daze until a hand slapped him in the face, forcing him to open them wearily.

"Wake up, Vulcan. I am not through with you. How dare you try and sleep," S'teth spat as he pulled the Vulcan up by his hair until his chest was embracing the priest's. S'teth wrenched his arms behind his back and tied them with some kind of rope that Spock could not see.

"What…what are you doing?" he asked blearily as a sense of alarm shot through him. Why was he being tied up? This was not part of the deal. He had long ceased struggling, so why then was Priest S'teth binding him?

S'teth did not answer him as he secured the painfully tight knot around Spock's wrists and let him fall ungracefully back down on the pallet; the added weight of his own body pressing on his bound arms so abruptly proved to be greatly uncomfortable. It was not until the priest had hefted Spock's legs up and inserted his own boisterous body between them did he realize what was about to happen, the alien was going to penetrate him again, he was just changing the position. He still did not understand why he had been bound though.

Using his hands, S'teth lifted Spock's lower half up and yanked him closer until the Vulcan could feel the alien's offending organ pressing against him again. He then leaned down until he was inches away from Spock's face and inhaled deeply. Spock felt a violent pang in his head, and stiffened in horror. It had become so clear in that one gesture. Now…he knew why he had been bound, and it sent a bone-chilling terror through him.

"What I plan to do, it will not be pleasant. You will wish to fight me. I have bound you for your protection, Spock," S'teth breathed into his pointed ear just before inhaling a second time. Spock whimpered in pain as his shields gave another violent shudder under the empathic pull.

Suddenly, a physical pain accompanied his mental turmoil, and he knew that the alien had entered him again and had started thrusting sporadically. Spock did not know what was worse…the alien's penis attacking him relentlessly; splitting him apart with each plunge, or the alien's mind attacking his own; attempting to gain access to this emotions, to feed on them. Perhaps it was a combination of both that had him begging seconds later for the priest to stop, to cease, to end this.

"Please! Please stop!" Spock cried as his body was forced further along the pallet, his cheeks becoming wet with tears he had not shed since he had been a child. He felt like he was losing control of his mind, that something had doused it in oil and lit it on fire. But S'teth did not stop; in fact he increased his momentum into that of harsh, forceful jabs that felt like knives tearing into his lower body. His face never left Spock's; it continuously hovered just above him, inhaling in ecstasy and moaning in pleasure. It was obvious that the alien had been working up to this moment from the very beginning.

"Please stop…stop!" Spock cried again, his arms attempting fruitlessly beneath him to come to his assistance and push the alien off. S'teth's hands, which had been gripping and scratching hard enough to draw blood, retreated from his hips and legs and came to rest on his face. One hand clasped down over his mouth, muffling his cries while the other tangled itself in his sweating hair.

"Ssssssshhhh…it's okay, everything will be—oh _Gods_ yes…I'm almost there…I have almost reached them…I knew they would come to me sooner or later…" S'teth breathed against him almost incoherently. His emotions were sporadic and chaotic; Spock could not even begin to identify them. He cried out again as a particularly forceful plunge barreled into him, but it was muffled beneath the golden, oppressing hand.

"You do not…you cannot fathom what this feels like…" S'teth keened, and just as the alien's rhythmic fucking seemed to reach an all time high, he fisted his hand tightly in Spock's hair and yanked his head up to meet his own. The priest's mouth was slightly agape, and his nostrils flared, and a moment later, he pressed his mouth against the Vulcan's forehead and literally sucked in every bit of air surrounding him. Instantly Spock felt as if someone had taken a knife and plunged it into his skull. He cried out in agony.

His shields shattered completely, and the only thing Spock was aware of was a presence, an overwhelming presence, ripping through his mental landscape, and taking everything that lingered there. Every emotion he had ever felt, every emotion he was feeling at that moment came surging forcibly to the surface as the presence called to them.

All around him was chaos, and pain, and an unbearable pressure pressing down on him from all corners and angles. He did not know where he was at that moment, he did not know who he was at that moment…he was only aware of something being taken from him, and being replaced with pain. A heavy emptiness descended upon him, and bleeding and gaping holes began to replace the once proud and stable walls it had taken him a lifetime to build.

Those walls were gone now; ripped away; taken. And in their place came a flood of emotions that were not his. Emotions that stung him, and bit at him, but he could not keep them away. The walls that had been there before, that had kept them at bay…were gone. He was lost in a maelstrom, and he could not bring himself back out.

And soon, he mercifully lost consciousness.

((oOo))

When Spock awoke, he was aware of three things: Firstly; his physical body ached severely, especially in his posterior. Secondly; his mind was writhing in agony. It was as if someone had embedded a knife into his temple, and left it there; and thirdly; his battered body felt as if it was currently residing in a body of water; warm water.

Blearily, and with a pained moaned, Spock opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. Second by second memories of where he was, and what had happened came surging back to him. He was in the bathing tub in his room. The water that always lingered inside it was warm and soapy now, and someone was washing his shoulder blades from behind him. The contact was surprisingly gentle, despite everything he had just endured.

However, the emotions behind the contact were not. They were hungry, and dangerous.

"Sssshhh, be still my Vulcan, Let S'teth take care of you…"

The mere sound of that voice sent a shiver down Spock's spine and he immediately attempted to move himself out of the alien's arms. "No! No, be still! I will not hurt you!" S'teth beckoned him as he enclosed his arms around the struggling, naked Vulcan in an attempt to immobilize him.

He was successful, for Spock was unbearably weak and in no shape to fight against the much stronger alien.

Feeling defeated, Spock let his head loll back from sheer fatigue, and he whimpered as tiny throngs of sharp pains pulsated through his temple. Not only was he dealing with the physical aftermath of such a violent, sexual encounter; but also it seemed he was suffering from what the priest had done to his mind when he had forced his way into it…and taken.

…Taken.

"That's it, just relax, and let me clean you. You were so filthy. Do you know how long you have been asleep? Hours now, Vulcan. Hours."

Spock closed his eyes again as the alien moved from his shoulder blades down to his lower back with the sponge and began massaging it. He winced slightly from the pain it elicited, but did not stir. He didn't have the energy to. Everything hurt.

"I am…relieved that you are awake. I would not have known what to say to your ship had they returned and found you in a comatose state…"

The methodic massaging moved down to his thighs.

"I regret that I might have gotten ahead of myself during our _encounter_, I did not intend for it to go that far…but…your emotions, your _mind,_ was too irresistible."

Soon, S'teth's arms had snaked around Spock's waist and his hands went to linger on his genitals underneath the hot water. Slowly, he put the sponge to work, and Spock whimpered in pain. His genitals were still so sensitive from all the harsh tugging and fondling during what S'teth had coined, '_the encounter_'. He wished he would not touch them, but he still had trouble forming words let alone sentences. It seemed that whatever had happened to his mind had taken away the ability to speak.

"I must confess…" S'teth started right beside Spock's ear as the Vulcan's head continued to lie against his chest and shoulder. "I had not expected to be this enraptured by you, but after seeing your mind, and feeding on its splendor, how could I not be?" he whispered huskily as one of his hands rubbed at the Vulcan's genitals affectionately. Spock moaned from the touch, but it was not in pleasure, it was in dread. He could not endure this again. Not when his mind; his body; felt as if it were falling apart piece by piece.

"Even now, when I know I shouldn't, when I should be sated…I cannot deny that I want you…" he added sensually, and a moment later Spock felt the hot wetness of the alien's tongue as it licked the side of his shoulder, and up the length of his neck. He shivered, and it didn't go unnoticed.

"Oh, don't do that, Spock. I will not touch your mind again, as tempting as that is. Your mind cannot handle another encounter with mine. It is too weak in that aspect," S'teth explained to him as the alien began to pull Spock closer against him through the water.

_Weak. Yes, his mind was weak, and always had been…_

"But your body…I cannot not keep myself from having it again when I know that soon you will be gone from here," and with that Spock became painfully aware of a hard erection pressing up against his bruised and aching entrance. "I will be gentle this time, my Vulcan. I will be…" Spock whimpered as the priest pushed himself slowly inside. "…So gentle…" he finished in a half moan as he lazily began pushing himself in an out of the Vulcan seated in his lap under the water. Spock wished he could not feel, that he could tune everything out, but his mind was in such disarray that the attempt was hopeless. Before long, the priest had shifted his position, the force of which caused Spock's head to drop downward until his chin was touching his own chest. He did not have the strength to move it, and could only endure the assault in pained silence while his limp head bobbed up and down with each submerged thrust.

**A.N. SO? Have I driven everyone away now with this scene? Hopefully not too many of you. Remember that I firmly believe in happy endings, as well as serving justice to the villains I create. I would sure appreciate your thoughts! **

**For those of you that skipped over the rape scene, S'teth rapes Spock because he decides that he doesn't want to go through with it. However, S'teth doesn't care and makes Spock go through it anyway. In addition to being raped, Spock's mind was also invaded by the priest's empathic abilities, and the chapter ends with the impression that the mind rape is going to leave Spock with problems; which, it is. **

**I know that was graphic, but it will be the only scene like that in this. Again, I feel it's necessary to the story to depict Spock's emotions during these horrible moments. It's my way of connecting you to his pain and suffering, which again, happens to people every day in our own world. I said before I don't gloss over trauma, I write it for what it is, and exactly how it happens. I try my hardest not to glorify it in anyway. Rape is a violent act intended to cause harm, humiliation, and to control someone no matter their wishes. I don't condone it all. **

**Now…the name of this chapter comes from the song, "Lullaby For A Sadist" by Korn. The song is told from a sadist's POV, and honestly, it sums up Priest S'teth very well. **


	4. I Sold My Soul

**A.N Okay everyone! Here is the Tuesday update as promised! Now, from reading back through chapters in my other fic, I seem to notice that certain words are sometimes stitched together? For example: instead of "by himself" it would read, "byhimself" I honestly don't know why it's doing that? It's not like that in Microsoft word when I'm editing, and all I can think is that it's a technical issue from uploading. I apologize for those. **

** Now, about this chapter? There isn't a graphic non-con scene like in the last one, but it is heavily implied, and there are sexual situations in this. So, I'm warning for that. This one is pretty long, I added about 3k to it when I edited it over the weekend. **

**A big thank you to rubyhair and coccinelle! And of course all of the lovely reviewers! You people seriously make my week on a chronic basis. **

**Chapter Four**

** I Sold My Soul**

The two days that followed the _encounter_ passed in a haze of befuddlement, pain, and exhaustion for Spock.

S'teth had taken his time in sexually assaulting Spock in that bathtub. The entire process had been so long that throughout it all, the Vulcan had slipped in and out of consciousness from utter mental and physical exhaustion. However, in the unfortunate event that he had woken up either from a sharp pain in his mind, or a particularly harsh physical sensation; the Priest had still been pushing into him. It had seemed that the _night_ would never end. It had seemed that the Altririan would never run out of endurance. The only positive fact had been that S'teth had stayed true to his word, and refrained from touching Spock's mind again; not that it kept him from any pain; for his mind writhed and twisted in agony throughout the entire experience anyway.

After the _bath,_ which had been so lengthy to the point where the water had been ice cold by the end of it; S'teth had easily lifted him out of the water by way of placing his bulky arms underneath Spock's knees and back and heaved him out like a child. The Vulcan's head had fallen back in a painful manner from lack of support, yet S'teth had not cared.

Spock vaguely had remembered the large Altririan carrying him over to the pallet, the fire still going in the background, and drying him off tenderly with one of the towels that had been stored beside the large tub. Throughout it all, the priest had spoken softly to him; had told him of the things he wished to do to him later, had told him how good he had been, _"you have been so good for me,"_ and how beautiful he was in his utter stillness. The words had been spoken gently, but Spock could not remember a time he had been spoken to more dangerously. It had been as if at any time the priest would grow tired of merely speaking, and take him again. Every befuddled moment that had gone by had left Spock wondering if that _moment_ would be the moment his body would become someone else's again.

"You do not know what it is like, Spock; being inside of you, both physically and mentally. Your body responds so perfectly for me that it is almost like you were made for me," he had confided lecherously as he clothed him almost lovingly in his meditation robes, and then had placed him neatly in the middle of the pallet and underneath the plush covers. After he had tucked the silk blanket securely around Spock, S'teth then smoothed out his unkempt, wet hair, and sat back and gazed at him affectionately. Aside from the occasional whimper of pain, Spock had stayed silent since the bath had taken place, and that silence continued as the priest bent down, captured Spock's lips with his own, and kissed him. It had been done tenderly at first, but when Spock had not responded, the priest had grown angry, forced his mouth open with his large hand, and had proceeded to kiss him again, making sure to be particularly rough and deprived in the kiss. After that, he finally had left the room.

For awhile, despite being utterly exhausted, Spock had stared fearfully at the door that the priest had exited through; too terrified to close his eyes. He could not quell the fear that had coursed through him just watching that door, wondering if at any moment the priest would change his mind, come back in the room and force himself on him again. Spock hadn't known exactly how long he laid there, eyes glued to that expansive door; or exactly when his body had succumbed to darkness. Yet, even in that unconscious darkness…S'teth had been there, prowling Spock's nightmares, telling him how good he was, and how good he had felt.

When he had awoken next, his body had felt like it had been beaten profusely, or in that case, _raped_ profusely. In response to the aching pain, Spock had attempted to assess himself for the injuries that he knew existed in his body; but oddly enough, that ability had not came to him. His eyes still closed, Spock had tried again, but it had been as if the circuit in his brain that enabled him to perform such a task…simply had not been there anymore. The Vulcan had permitted himself a few moments of silent panic before he had decided not to be disturbed by his failure; perhaps he was just too exhausted, and he required more rest. That is what he had told himself, because to believe something else had been too terrifying. To believe that his mind had been compromised to such a high degree had been too hard to think about. At some point Spock's mind had drifted to the medkit Dr. McCoy had sent along with him. If he could not ascertain his injuries for himself, then the next logical step had been to utilize the kit instead.

However, when Spock had attempted to sit up, he had barely made it all the way into a seated position when a sharp pain in his temple forced him back down. His vision had become spotted and the Vulcan had not been able to help the gasp of pain that left him as he lay there, attempting to clutch at his head. But he hadn't even been able to manage _that _small sense of comfort, because his arms had just been too exhausted and sore as a result of being tied so tightly behind him for who knew how long. Suddenly, a task as simple as retrieving a medkit had become the most daunting thing in the world.

Feeling utterly helpless, Spock had closed his disoriented eyes, and dozed back off into a nightmare-filled slumber.

Come the second day, Spock still had not left his pallet. He had not drunk anything, he had not changed his clothes despite the fact that he was almost completely sure he had been bleeding, and he still had yet to utilize the medkit. In all that time, he had not spoken to another soul either, nor had he wished to.

Priest S'teth, to his immense yet suspicious relief, had not come back in to visit him since the _bath _encounter. However, every time his sensitive ears picked up on an errant sound out in the corridor, Spock's entire body had stiffened with apprehension and fear.

That _had_ been something new to him.

Yes, Vulcans all carried such emotions deep within them, his father had told him as much, and he had experienced them on rare occasions.

But…they had never plagued him like this. They were never so quick to show, or so quick to entrap him. How long would his loss of control last? Spock had known he should meditate; that he should start the process of analyzing what he had been through, and only then would he be able to heal his broken shields and begin to repair himself; but every time he had tried to remove himself from that pallet, his body had ached and protested, and his mind would sear with pain.

It seemed that the pain would never leave him.

After the sixth attempt at rousing himself, Spock had come to the opinion that meditating was not so important as to suffer through such pain and agony. Thus, every time his Vulcan half had encouraged him to get up and continue on with the day, another voice would tell him, _a few more hours_. _A few more hours, and then you will meditate. Sleep now…_

And sleep he did.

((oOo))

The first thing Spock became aware of a few hours later was the sensation of large hands pushing slightly on his shoulder, as if to rouse him from sleep. His heart jumped painfully in his side at the gesture. Obviously, S'teth had come back, and any moment now he would be ripped from the safety of his blanket, and the priest would use him again. Out of instinct, Spock whimpered in fear and attempted to move his aching body away from the priest's position. His body, his mind, was still so battered, and he did not think he could endure another encounter with the priest; emotionally or physically.

"Please…no more…" Spock attempted to plead hoarsely through tightly closed eyes, though the actual words sounded incoherent. When he realized that he would not be able to move fast enough, Spock resorted to curling his body inward in a pathetic attempt to protect himself in the best way he could.

"Commander Spock," a voice that did not belong to S'teth greeted in irritation. "It is I, Ch'iora. I knocked on your door, but you did not answer. You have been summoned to the evening meal, and I have come to escort you. The High Council wishes to speak with you of matters of great importance," Ch'iora—not S'teth—explained firmly, and with a hint of annoyance. Perhaps to him, Spock was being unbearably lazy by still being in bed. If Spock had been an outsider looking in, he might have come to the same conclusion.

It was bizarre, the feeling that washed over the Vulcan when he realized that it had not been S'teth crouched over him, but the servant instead. His fear was not entirely gone, but it was muted considerably.

"Commander Spock. It is time to get up. It is not professional to linger in bed all day like this," the servant spat at him.

Spock groaned with fatigue and mumbled more incoherent words which were supposed to translate into, _'leave me alone,' _but ended up coming out a mess.

The servant sighed. "Commander, you must get up, the Council will not appreciate being left waiting, and I will no doubt get into trouble for failing to bring you there on time," he stated impatiently, and a second later, the large hand that had pushed his shoulder before grabbed him around the bicep in an attempt to force him up. As soon as Ch'iora's hand made contact, Spock felt unbearable pain as well as fear. Immediately a newfound energy found him, and he shot away from the Altririan, his hands fumbling for his head to quell the sharp agony.

Instantly the hand on his bicep retreated.

"Commander Spock?" the servant asked, though warily this time. All of the annoyance and impatience from before was completely gone. "I will go retrieve a healer," Ch'iora declared hurriedly a moment later, making Spock's eyes shoot open as the implications of that endeavor hit home.

"Wait!" the Vulcan yelled after the now retreating form, and using all of his energy, propped himself up on his bruised, aching arms. He could not permit Ch'iora to bring a healer to him, no matter how injured he appeared. If he did, then the nature of what had taken place in this room would become known, and everything will have been for nothing. What Spock had been through, what he had consented to, would all have been for nothing.

No one could know what had happened between him and the priest, or the treaty would never get signed, and Jim would lose his ship.

Ch'iora halted at the desperateness laden in his voice, and turned back to face Spock with worry, which was strange coming from the usually impassive, disdainful Altririan.

Feeling lightheaded from his abrupt movement, Spock took a series of deep breaths before speaking again. His head throbbed uncomfortably, and again Spock wondered if _that _particular pain would ever leave him. "A…a healer is unnecessary," he paused again when another bout of dizziness overcame him. "If you would allow me a few moments, I will change and…" another painful forced paused. Spock had been afraid before, but not he was beginning to feel loathsome; loathsome at his inability to overcome his physical weaknesses and speak in a clear and concise tone.

Ch'iora noticed his struggle, and moved slightly toward him, but Spock put a hand up to halt him. However, upon actually _looking _at his hand, Spock hastily brought it back down. It seemed that the rope used to bind his wrists together had left severe bruising and chaffing as a result. "I will change…and meet them in the main room," he went on quietly, his eyes averted to the pallet.

"You are already late for the meal, Commander. Perhaps…"

"Then I will make my apologies for my tardiness!" Spock bit out in anger. It didn't help that right at that moment, his head had exploded again in pain, which had only added to his hostile emotions, hence his outburst.

"Commander Spock," the alien deadpanned after a hesitant pause, and took another step closer. "I was going to suggest that I help you get dressed. It will no doubt be more efficient, and I daresay you could use the aid. You do not look well."

Spock stilled, and blinked up at him, his insides already growing cold with dread. Help him get dressed? Was there a hidden meaning in the words? Did Ch'iora intend to take him as the priest had done? If that was his plan, then Spock had no doubt that the alien across from him could carry it out with ease, just like S'teth. That thought alone made Spock tense with cold fear. The _deal_ had been for the priest, and only the priest. He couldn't bear another doing to him what S'teth had done…

Apparently his fear and anxiety showed on his face, because the servant's once impassive expression became softer and gentler; almost concerned. In fact, Spock could _feel_ Ch'iora's concern for him. It was pouring off the Altririan in waves and leaking into Spock's unshielded mind. Given the difficult relationship thus far with this servant, the fact that Spock was receiving those feelings was quite surprising to him; enough to make him falter slightly in his defenses.

"_Mr. Spock," _Ch'iora started quietly, yet in the most sincere voice Spock had ever heard from the alien. It was enough to make the Vulcan give him his full attention._ "_I…I will not do what our High Priest has done to you…" he finished in barely above a whisper.

Spock couldn't help widening his eyes at Ch'iora's observation, but a second later found himself looking away in shame. How did the servant know? Did that mean that everyone knew? If that was the case, then the mission had already failed. Perhaps that was why the Council had requested an audience with him. They were going to tell Spock that what he had done was shameful, and illegal, and then his father would find out, and then Jim would most assuredly find out and they would all be disappointed in him.

"Mr. Spock," the sincere firmness in the voice drew Spock out of his panicked musings. He blinked and looked back up at Ch'iora who was watching him hesitantly, yet also with a touch of sympathy. "They do not know," he breathed out, "only I know, and…I can assure you that I will not tell a soul if you do not wish me to," he explained in almost a whisper as if he had read Spock's panicked thoughts.

Spock pondered the Altririan in front of him, and instantly began searching for a motive. Why would this alien help keep his secret? Especially when it had been glaringly obvious from the beginning that Ch'iora _did not_ like Spock.

"Why? Why would you neglect to tell your superiors," Spock found himself asking before he could stop himself. He knew he was basically affirming the alien's suspicions that something _had_ happened between him and the priest, but it couldn't be helped. The alien knew something was wrong with him, and if Spock didn't say anything now, then he risked the servant going to get a healer…which would make everything worse.

"I have my reasons, Mr. Spock," Ch'iora paused and looked away. It was extremely uncharacteristic of the large alien, and so was the switch from '_Commander Spock' _to '_Mr. Spock'_.

Spock kept his silence, and stared at the alien, willing him to give him at least _one _reason. Fortunately, the alien did. "Let us just say that I would not wish your sacrifice to be in vein," he added softly, and Spock wondered just how the servant knew so much about the details surrounding his encounter with the priest.

"Sacrifice…" Spock said mostly to himself.

"I promise you on Altririan honor, Mr. Spock. I will not utter a word," Ch'iora added in near desperateness, which again took the Vulcan by surprise. He had never heard this side of Ch'iora before.

Spock stared at him a few moments, pondering if he really should confirm the alien's suspicions. However, since he already apparently knew, Spock saw no reason not to. Ch'iora would know of his disgraced acts one way or the other.

"I…thank you, Ch'iora, for your silence. I do wish this to remain between us. If…if my captain were to find out, the consequences would be great," Spock explained with difficulty, and managed to seat himself into a more upright position. His posterior screamed it pain as he sat on it, but Spock merely gritted his teeth and bore it. He would have to sit in the main room soon enough, so he'd better become acclimated to it while he was alone in his room; or…as alone as he could be at the moment. If only he could _do _something about his pain. Spock did not relish sitting in the main room around other Altririan's with such agonizing pain.

In response to that train of thought, Spock's aching mind wandered to the medkit on the floor a few feet away. Knowing Dr. McCoy, Spock had no doubts that there would be a pain hypo within it, and perhaps even a dermal regenerator. However, Spock was not about to utilize the dermal regenerator in front of Ch'iora; for he had no doubts where that regenerator would have to be used. The pain hypo though, he would gladly take.

"Ch'iora, I do not mean to inconvenience you, but if you would please bring to me that medkit over there," Spock asked quietly while he pointed to the medkit on the floor. He knew he should get up and retrieve it himself, but his body just did not want to comply with that wish. Everything just hurt too much.

Fortunately, Ch'iora did not looked inconvenienced by Spock's request, and a few moments later the alien was setting the medkit down gently next to him on the pallet.

"Thank you, Ch'iora," he said gratefully, and watched as the alien nodded in acknowledgement, but otherwise, remained silent.

Spock wasted no time in opening the medkit, and rummaging through the contents he had yet to inspect. Just as he had assumed, there _was _a pain hypo, several; as well as some varying antihistamines, six nutrition bars, and a simplified version of a dermal regenerator. At the sight of the nutrition bars, which were all vegetarian, Spock's heart sank. He could not help but feel unbearably stupid. This entire time there had been food in this medkit, and Spock had not known. Not once in his agonizing periods of hunger had he taken the time to look into the medkit that the doctor had packed specifically for him (or else, why would all of the nutrition bars be vegetarian?) He still had not eaten since beaming down to this planet, but despite that fact, Spock just did not have an appetite. Eating was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

Passing over the nutrition bars, Spock grabbed one of the pain hypos and wasted no time in injecting it into his neck. Ch'iora, he noted, eyed his bruised wrists as he did so with a frown before gazing evenly at him.

"I still believe you should see one our healers. You could be critically injured," Ch'iora reiterated and crossed his arms in emphasis. Spock could not fault his logic, but he was reluctant to agree to such a thing. An injury like the one he probably had could only be caused by a small number of things. A _very_ small number of things; and thus it would not be difficult to draw conclusions.

No, he would not seek out a healer. After the meeting with the High Council, Spock would use the dermal regenerator to heal what he could. It was a simplified model compared to the models in the Enterprise's sickbay, so it would probably not be capable of much more than tending to flesh wounds; but it would have to do until he could find a more permanent treatment plan. He knew Dr. McCoy would scan him himself when the Enterprise returned, and he could not afford the doctor to see these injuries. Spock would have to find an alternative treatment plan quickly.

The Vulcan didn't comment while he placed the used hypo back onto the pallet, and struggled to stand up, his body protesting every step of the way. It seemed that the pain hypo just could not work fast enough.

He was so caught up in the endeavor to get into a standing position that he didn't notice when Ch'iora arrived a foot in front of him with his science tunic, briefs, and black pants. "Please…allow me to assist you. I will make no comments. I merely wish to help," the servant implored him softly, and lifted the bundle of clothes up to him.

Spock eyed the clothes with a hint of suspicion. Three days ago, undressing in front of this alien would not have bothered him if the situation had called for it. He had undressed in front of plenty of males in the shower room in the gymnasium at the Academy, as well as the Enterprise's own gymnasium. But it bothered him now, and Spock hated that. It was illogical, for Spock could feel no lustful feelings, or hostile intentions coming from the servant. He could only feel Ch'iora's concern and wish to help. Therefore, it should not bother him.

_Control your fear, Spock. Examine this logically. Ch'iora does not wish you harm. If he did, he would have already acted on that hostility,_ his Vulcan half sought to tell him. Wishing to rise above the emotionalism that the human in him was doing everything in his power to bring about, Spock nodded briskly and divested himself of the robe that S'teth had placed him in. He would rather not have changed right in front of the servant, but there was no separate room for him to go into, and obviously the servant wasn't leaving.

Spock watched Ch'iora's eyes widen largely as he stared at his naked form. Curious, Spock decided to look down to see what the Altririan was so surprised by.

He wished he hadn't.

His body, which had once been pale and unmarked; save for the green tinged nipples, and slight green flush; was now littered with dark bruises of varying colors and shapes. Several of them were in the shape of hand marks, and others appeared to be more bite marks than bruises. Spock found that odd, for he did not remember the priest biting him. But then again, once his mind had been entered, and his emotions forcibly brought to the surface while others invaded him, it was hard to recall anything except blinding agony.

His legs were what really caught his interest though, for trailing down the inside of them was long, streaking lines of green blood mixed in with more bruises and bite marks. He had no doubts where the blood was coming from, and he felt shame. It made him want to lie back down, and curl himself up in the blankets of his pallet; to hide himself from the Altririan's forever. He did not like being naked in front of this Altririan, no matter what his intentions were. He did not want another being to see the physical evidence of the disgraced act he'd committed. He did not want Ch'iora to see his shame.

"I apologize," Spock said impassively as he hastily grabbed the clothes out of Ch'iora's hands. He could not retreat to the blankets no matter how much safer they would make him feel; he had to face the High Council. His clothes would have to do, and he had never wished to be clothed more than at that moment.

"Do not apologize, the High Priest is…known for his savagery among the servants…" Ch'iora trailed off darkly, making Spock peer up at him sharply. He had wondered if Ch'iora had known more about S'teth than he had let on, and now it was being confirmed. However, the alien would not comment further on the subject, and Spock dared not ask. Instead, he awkwardly and painfully shifted his clothes on. Fortunately, the long sleeves of his science tunic clung tightly to his arms and wrists unlike the meditation robe which had readily slid up and down his forearm, consequently exposing his bruised wrists. Wearing this, Spock would be able to keep his wrists out of sight.

The pain hypo had helped, but it was not as strong as Spock would've liked it to have been, because when he bent over to put his boots on, he hissed in pain and grabbed at his lower back. Apparently bending down was going to be a challenge; hypo or no hypo.

"Allow me, sir," Ch'iora chimed in gently.

Too tired, and in too much pain to protest, Spock let the alien put his boots on, and neither one of them said anything the entire time. Neither of them needed to say anything. It hurt to speak anyway and Spock relished the silence.

Once finished, Spock began to make his way—very slowly—to the door to proceed to the main room. He had gotten almost halfway when his temple gave another sharp pain, and he grabbed it with a gasp.

"Mr. Spock?" Ch'iora chanced hesitantly, and made to put his arm on the Vulcan to steady him. This however, proved to be detrimental as the gesture merely caused more pain.

"Please…Ch'iora," Spock started through gritted teeth and closed eyes. "I appreciate your assistance, but…it seems physical contact merely exacerbates the migraine I am experiencing. I believe it has to do with your physiology, your empathic abilities," Spock managed as he palmed his forehead, hoping the added pressure would quell the jarring head pains that did not want to subside.

"I understand, Commander. You know though, that this will only get worse once you're in the main room?"

Spock resisted the urge to sigh bitterly. Of course he knew.

"I am aware," he said flatly, for he knew just how much _worse_ it could get. He spared Ch'iora another weak glance before he limped out of the room. The servant followed several feet behind him in case he fell.

As usual, Spock did not eat at dinner. In fact, he could barely stomach being in the same room with all of the meat lingering on the table. Despite his fears about the entire High Council knowing what he had done, it seemed that the only individual who did know what had transpired between himself and S'teth was Ch'iora. All of the other council members made no hints as to what had occurred.

That relief had been shattered though when S'teth had shown up a few minutes into dinner, caught Spock's eyes, and to his immense dismay, made it a point to sit right next to him. It was obvious though that he dared not touch Spock in front of the High Council, or the Ambassador. However, just the proximity was enough to make Spock deeply nervous and afraid. Because yes, he would admit it, he was afraid of the priest. His body screamed with fear, but more so, his mind.

His mind protested the very sight of the priest, and throughout the entire meal, the painful throbbing in his head got increasingly worse despite the pain hypo he had administered earlier. It was almost as if the priest was attempting to enter his mind again, right there beside him in front of everyone. Every time S'teth would lean closer to him, or speak in his direction, the tugging sensation would pull at his bleeding shields, and on three occasions he was forced to bow his head in pain, and take deep breaths to steady himself. He had never experienced pain such as this.

It was during one of those _episodes_ when Ambassador Qu'ale informed him, "Your Captain will be pleased to know, Commander Spock; that we will accept admission into the Federation, and we will accept the terms your treaty has outlined for us."

Spock might have uttered a thank you, but he honestly could not remember doing it. His head hurt so much…

"I believe the Commander has had a trying day, High Council," S'teth started from beside him, and Spock whimpered in pain at the large wave of anger that flowed from the priest into Spock's battered mind. He had angered the priest, and he did not understand why. "He mentioned something to me about an underlying illness he has contracted…something about a Vulcan flu…" Spock heard S'teth finish casually from beside him.

"Oh! How unfortunate! And here we are, forcing you to take place in a meal when you should be in your quarters resting. Please Commander, take all the time you need. We will not be signing the treaty until your Captain returns anyway, so please feel free to do as you please in that time, do you need a healer?" the Ambassador asked him sympathetically, and before Spock could even attempt to respond, strong, unbearably familiar arms shouldered him and hefted him out of the seat.

"He has his own medication, Ambassador. It is in his quarters. I will see to it that he gets there, and takes it," S'teth answered for him. Spock wished to protest, he wished to assure to the High Council that he could get there himself, and _by himself_, but he could not make his words work. He could not speak. He was helpless…again.

"Very good, High Priest S'teth, thank you for taking the time out of your daily rituals to do such a thing for our guest. It is most gracious of you," and that was that. Once again, Spock found himself in the priest's grasp.

Somehow, they ended up back in his quarters, and the next thing Spock was aware of was being roughly dropped onto the pallet. A second later, someone's hot breathe ghosted across his ear indicating that S'teth was leaning over him.

"Stupid Vulcan! Acting in such a way…if they had found out…" it was S'teth speaking to him, that much he could tell, but his vision was so blurry and disoriented from the migraine he was experiencing that he could not make out much of the words. All he could do was lay there, and whimper from the pain that continued to assault him waves.

"I had planned on taking you again. I had planned on making you pay for your little slip up back in the main room. The deal had been for the duration of your stay after all…"

That statement was enough to make Spock start, and momentarily forget the migraine. Had he made such an agreement? Quickly, Spock played back through his memories, as difficult as it was, and his heart filled with dread when he found the one he was looking for.

" _However, Spock…I am willing to redact my advice regarding your Federation…if only you would give yourself to me. It would only be for the duration of your stay. That is all I ask."_

_The __**duration**_ _of your stay…_

"And Vulcans don't go back on their word…do they?" S'teth exclaimed from somewhere above him as he roughly began pulling Spock's clothes off. He was beyond irritated with him, that much was clear.

Spock moaned in fear as the memory played in his head. He had never corrected that particular part of the alien's offer at the time that he had consented to the deal, and apparently, S'teth had not forgotten about it either.

"Oh quit your incessant whining! I did not know that a Vulcan could complain as much as you do! I will not be taking you tonight so you can quit your childish whimpering! You are much too injured for me to touch you…just look at this!" the alien hissed in exasperation, obviously referring to his injuries. "You are so much weaker than I thought you were, Vulcan," S'teth went on chastising him, his anger and disappointment flooding into Spock's mind like a tidal wave. "Your body actually disgusts me right now with its weakness. It's pathetic, and I am pathetic for wanting it like I do. I should be ramming you into the pallet right now, and I can't because you are so _pitifully_ weak! Do you have _any_ notion of how much you've inconvenienced me?"

_Yes, it is pathetic. I am pathetic. I am weak. I am an inconvenience, _Spock berated himself as the priest carelessly roamed his hands over his naked body, probably inspecting his injuries with more scrutiny.

"And why is your nose bleeding? I did not hit you!" he asked in genuine confusion.

Spock felt a trill of alarm at that. His nose was bleeding? But…why? And why hadn't he felt it?

"I will call Ch'iora to attend to your injuries. He is not a healer, but he has enough experience with our dermal regenerators. I cannot allow one of the healers to find out about our…engagement. I saw the way Ch'iora was eyeing me in the main room. I have no doubts that little imbecile knows, and if he so much as tells the High Council, I will make him…" but that was all Spock heard before slipping away into unconsciousness after a particularly acute pain in his head.

When he awoke, his body did not ache as much as it had, and he wondered how long he had been asleep. If the stiffness was anything to go off of, it had been awhile.

"You've been asleep for three days, Commander. I gave you a sedative to keep you unconscious so your body could devote its energy to healing," a voice he didn't recognize cut in beside him, making his eyes snap open. It was an Altririan female, and the gaze she was rendering him with was stern, and displeased.

However, her obvious disdain was masked in the utter relief he felt from his head. The migraine had gone, and for the first time since Priest S'teth, he could think clearly again.

"I have given you something else to help with your migraine that Ch'iora has informed me of. It is only a temporary solution, and eventually it will begin to lessen in its effect. Once you leave our planet, you will need to seek the aid of one of your own Vulcan mind healers. I do not know the Vulcan mind, but yours has taken much damage," she informed him flatly, and shifted around to a black bag which he assumed contained medical equipment.

"Are…are you a doctor?" he asked in a raspy voice that surprised him. Of course, being comatose for three days would produce that effect.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I am a _healer_, Commander Spock."

"I did not wish to see a doctor," Spock blurted out without thinking, not having the sense to correct himself.

She narrowed her eyes even further. "My presence was requested by Ch'iora, a servant here in the palace. He also happens to be my cousin's son, and I owed my cousin a favor. The _High Priest_ believes him to be the one tending to you, and he will not become aware of my involvement…" she let her voice trail off and elevated her eyebrows, "_will he,_ Mr. Spock?" she enunciated carefully, making sure to keep his weary gaze. Spock did not know what to say to that, so he settled for a minute shake of his head to let her know that, no, he would not be informing anyone of what had happened.

"I…thank you for attending to me. You did not have to do that," he expressed quietly, and fisted his sleep-filled hands in the pallet. His body felt unbearably rigid from laying still for so long.

To his shock, she snorted at him and abruptly stood. Spock watched her warily, unsure of what to make of the gesture. While he was feeling much better, he was still slightly weak, and if she decided to attack him, he would be defenseless, and why did he now assume that everyone he came into contact with would attack him? It was completely illogical.

"You're right, Vulcan. I didn't. I came here to settle an old score with my cousin, and he and I are even now on that front. I don't like you, and I don't like your Federation. Altriri IV does not _require_ protection. The only reason your government has any interest in her people is because of the Dilithium. I am not a fool, Commander," she explained darkly, her eyes blazing. Spock tensed at her anger, which, despite whatever medication she had given him, managed to stab at his still crumpled shields with its intensity.

"I apolo…" he had started weakly, still reeling from her fury.

"Don't waste your weak Vulcan apologies on me, and what kind of Vulcan are you?" she shouted, accusation laced in her voice.

Spock blinked. "Pardon?" his voice cracked slightly.

She leaned toward him slightly at the question and stuck her finger in his chest. "What kind of _Vulcan_ spreads their legs to gain influence in diplomatic negotiations? I thought your people were intelligent, I thought they carried a sense of morality. I thought they were above petty, revolting methods of persuasion…"

Spock paled as all the blood drained from his face. She took notice, and her angry expression transcended into a smile, but there was no mirth in it. Her smile was just as menacing as her expression of ire.

"I know what you _did_ with the High Priest. Ch'iora told me all about it when I questioned the nature of your injuries. He didn't want to tell me, but I eventually got it out of him, and it's disgraceful, and disgusting! If Ch'iora's life wasn't at stake, I would tell Ambassador Qu'ale the entire story and have you jailed, along with that sham of a priest," she seethed.

Spock searched his brain for something to say…anything to say, but he couldn't because despite how much it hurt, she was right. What he had done? It _was_ disgraceful, and it _was_ disgusting, and if he'd been a better Vulcan like his father, he would never have had to resort to such means. Selling his body for a treaty should never have been an option to consider, and the fact that he had utilized it as one spoke volumes about just what kind of person he really was.

"If it were up to me, I would have let you wallow in your pain, but I couldn't ignore your injuries, as much as I wanted to. They were too severe," she explained curtly as she picked her bag up off the pallet and straightened out her robes as if he had soiled them somehow. She then fixed him with another hard glare. "As for your head? That medication will last you another thirty of your hours. I've left two more dosages on the table, and you're lucky I have enough compassion to leave you that much. If I were you, I'd use them sparingly because you won't be getting anymore," and with that, she curled her lip at him, turned, and marched out of the room. Fortunately, her anger left with her, but not the misery and guilt that had settled in the air, making it thick and heavy.

He had come to this planet a Vulcan, but he would be leaving as something else, especially when there was almost two weeks left of his stay.

Two weeks of living on the same planet as the High Priest…

Two weeks of continuing to fulfill his end of the deal.

_If only you would give yourself to me…_

_The duration of your stay…_

Later that night, Spock was sitting on his meditation mat, staring blankly into the fireplace when Priest S'teth came to visit him. Spock was slightly surprised, because he had taken the time to lock that door as soon as he could rise from his pallet.

Obviously, the priest had a key, and why, Spock thought with disdain, should he not?

Not wanting to keep his back turned, thereby unable to see what moves the priest made, Spock turned his body around.

"I have it on good authority, my Vulcan, that you are sufficiently healed?" the alien voiced happily as he walked into the room, shut the door behind him, locked it, and wasted no time in taking off his ceremonial robes.

A heavy chill descended upon Spock as he took in the alien's naked appearance. _The duration of your stay, _paraded back into him as the priest sauntered over to the bar area, leaned his golden body down and cleared the surface off. Spock watched him blankly; too afraid to ponder why S'teth was clearing the bar off.

When the Altririan had completed his task, he looked back at Spock impatiently because the Vulcan had yet to move from his seated position on the floor, or answered the query. "Well? Don't keep me waiting Spock, you know what I want. Now get over here, and keep your end of the deal."

Spock stayed still. He couldn't move. He was frozen in place.

"If I have to come get you myself, it will not be pleasant, and since we see how easy it is to heal you…I definitely have more freedom to do the things I want, and we _both_ know how easy it is to break you. Now. Get over here," the demand and authority in S'teth's voice was menacing, and Spock was ashamed at the effect it had on him.

His eyes averted to the floor, Spock reluctantly got up and began walking slowly toward the priest. Every instinct he had screamed at him not to, but it could not be helped. There was no one here to stop S'teth from doing what he wanted to do, and at the end of the day…

Spock had agreed to this.

He had made this deal on his own. Admiral Marcus had not physically made him agree to anything. That had all been Spock.

When the Vulcan had completed the distance between them, the priest grabbed him by the shoulders, roughly turned him around and pressed him down by said shoulders onto the surface of the bar until his torso was lying flatly across it, his knees grounded on the floor. Spock felt the priest get on his knees as well and insert himself in between Spock's legs. The Vulcan winced when a familiar hardness pressed up against him, and he couldn't stop himself from shivering at the thought of what was about to happen, again.

Sighing with pleasure, S'teth gently, yet firmly pushed Spock's head down until the Vulcan's cheek lay flat on the table; his blank eyes now staring into the fireplace. Instead of taking Spock's meditation robe off, the priest pulled it up instead so that only his lower half was exposed. He then leaned his own torso down onto Spock's back, his body unbearably heavy, and whispered into Spock's ear, "I have a liking for this garment. I will enjoy fucking you with it on."

Throughout it all, Spock wondered if he would ever reach a point when he would no longer feel. If there would ever be a point when the pain and the emotions did not affect him. But throughout the entire two weeks…that point never came.

((oOo))

**Two Weeks Later:**

"Ketpin, ETA for Altririan space in four point two meenits," Chekov sounded from his station.

"Thank you, Mr. Chekov," Kirk replied before turning in his chair to regard Uhura. "Lt. Uhura, as soon as were able, open a channel to Altriri IV. Ask them for permission to beam down," he ordered, trying as hard as possible to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

It had been one month, _one month_, since he had last seen or heard anything from Spock, and the prospect of finally getting to see him again was proving to be overwhelming. Especially since their last meeting had been less than ideal.

Well, who he was kidding, he'd been a complete ass at their last meeting, and the moment they'd warped out of there, Kirk had experienced profound regret and guilt.

"We gotta go back there, Bones. I need to tell him to take care of himself…I need to let him know I'm not mad at him," Kirk had complained to his friend barely thirty minutes later after they'd beamed Spock down to the planet.

"You can't do that Jim. We're already out of range, and you know if we turn around now, we'll just delay the ETA to the Bradbury, and you know what Command would do to you if you did that," Bones had replied apologetically.

Kirk had known he was right of course, but it hadn't stopped him from pressing the issue. "You don't understand, Bones…I can't leave him like that. He's gotta know I'm not mad at him…"

"I guess you should've thought about that before you acted like a complete ass, Kirk," Uhura had chimed in as she stomped up to the pair who had been lingering in the corridor. Bones had scowled at her, but refrained from a sarcastic retort, and Kirk? Kirk hadn't said anything, because she had been right. "You know he asked about you down in the transporter room? He wanted to know if you were coming to see him off," she had started icily, making Kirk glance guiltily at the floor. "Do you know how hard it is for a Vulcan to ask something like that? And when Dr. McCoy told him you weren't coming…he looked…" Uhura had paused and frowned at a particular memory, probably of Spock. "He looked _crushed, _Kirk. He would never admit it, but I dated him for almost a year. I know almost every expression on his face. I _know_ it hurt him that you didn't come. I don't know what happened between you two to make you so angry with him, but you should be ashamed, _Captain._" Her tone had been stern and severely foreboding, and Kirk knew he had deserved every ounce of scorn she could throw at him.

Yes, he had been angry when they'd beamed back up from the planet, but he knew now that it wasn't really Spock's fault. In fact, the longer he'd been away from that planet, the more that anger had seemed to dissipate; and he wondered if the Altririans and their abilities had had anything to do with it. Perhaps their influence had enhanced his feelings. He honestly didn't know, but the more he had thought about it, the more he wondered if his disappointment really had been all his own.

What he had been irritated with; what had caused him to stay up on the bridge while Spock beamed down; had been the fact that Spock had agreed to stay at all. He hadn't wanted Spock to stay there on that godforsaken planet with no protection. It had felt…wrong, and he had been counting on the Vulcan to agree with him; to keep him from the unbearable unease he'd experienced for the past month without Spock on the ship.

He couldn't explain the bad feeling he'd gotten as soon as Marcus had given him the orders, and he'd been counting on, no, _hoping_—that Spock would have deemed such a plan illogical and risky, and thus taken away those feelings of unease. Sure he would've gotten shit from Command. Hell, it maybe would've even cost him his chair, but at least Spock would've been safe and onboard. And, if Spock had expressed his wish to stay on the ship…could Marcus really have argued with him? Kirk had been sure that once the Vulcan had presented a logical argument as to why it was completely insane to leave a member of crew on a non-federation planet for a month with no protection, that the Admiral would have understood. After all, a Vulcan argument could be a formidable thing.

But he hadn't. Spock hadn't argued the order at all. It was as if he just hadn't cared about Kirk's feelings on the subject or about his own safety. And dammit, Kirk had been so tired of Spock putting his own safety second to everything and _everyone_ else. If being in space with Spock for over a year now had shown Kirk anything…it was that Spock had almost _no_ self-preservation skills.

Kirk had been so upset by Spock's decision to stay that he couldn't even bare to look at his First Officer, lest he break down in the transporter room and beg the Vulcan to stay on the ship, to implore him to see reason. If Kirk were being honest with himself, _that_ had been the _real _reason he'd kept his seat on the bridge, and it kind of disturbed him. Why was it that Spock staying on a planet for a month for the sake of the Federation so upsetting to him? He was the Captain, and Spock was his First Officer, and they'd been given orders. Orders that shouldn't have bothered him to the point of disobeying them altogether.

But they had. And Kirk hadn't and still didn't know what to think about that, thus his avoidance of the issue altogether.

And now, a month later…Kirk was reeling with guilt, and filled with nervous tension at the prospect of seeing the Vulcan again. A lot could happen in a month.

((oOo))

Kirk had forgotten just what it felt like to be on Altriri IV; that pressuring, soul-sucking feeling that made a person feel like they were constantly being weighed down by some unseen force. Bones, who had yet to step foot on the planet, sounded off a heavy stream of curses that made the Ambassador, along with the rest of High Council, glance at each other warily. Bones was already a pessimist by nature. Add in this environment, and, well…

"You'll have to forgive my Chief Medical Officer, esteemed council members, he doesn't mean any offense, he is not used to the particular gifts of your people," Kirk explained in chagrin after a particularly nasty phrase left his friend's mouth. Bones scowled at him before wiping the disdainful expression off his face, and turned to smile at the aliens in the room.

"Dr. Leonard McCoy," he greeted as politely as Bones could greet anyone.

Ambassador Qu'ale regarded Bones thoughtfully, and leaned in toward one of the other council members to say something. Bones spared him a glance, and Kirk shrugged.

"A…_healer_, Captain?" Qu'ale asked hesitantly, obviously unsure as to why Kirk would bring along a doctor on a diplomatic mission.

"I'm here for Commander Spock. I need to check him out before he returns to the Enterprise since he's been here for such an extended amount of time. It's standard procedure," Bones explained gruffly and rotated his head about the room as if in search of someone. Kirk had no doubts who he was looking for, because Kirk had been looking for the same person since they'd beamed into the main room, and for some reason…Spock wasn't there.

Understanding washed over the Ambassador, and he smiled largely at the three men—Kirk had also beamed down Hendorff, his head of security. "Ah yes, of course, Captain Kirk. My apologies. It is probably a good thing that you brought one of your own healers with you…"

Kirk peered at Ambassador Qu'ale sharply. "A good thing? Why? What's wrong with Spock?" he questioned with a hint of alarm as various perilous images paraded through his mind, all of them with Spock as the star. Beside him, Bones immediately looked worried, and had clutched his medical bag tighter in his fist.

"What? Oh, nothing is wrong, Captain! I apologize; I did not mean to worry you unduly. Your First Officer contracted some form of…I believe he called it some variation of _'flu'_."

Kirk raised an eyebrow in shocked surprise. As far as he knew, Spock _never _got sick.

Bones apparently was just as shocked. "Flu? You sure?" the doctor questioned in disbelief, and glanced at Kirk with an elevated brow.

"Quite sure, Dr. McCoy. That is what the Commander referred to it as. However, he assured me yesterday that the affliction had passed, and that he wished to remain in his quarters for recuperation."

"So…that's why he's not here? He's still in his room?" he probed.

The Ambassador glanced at his comrades before coming back to focus on Kirk. "Yes, Captain."

Kirk found himself frowning, his mind reeling with incomprehension. "Did you…Did you _tell_ him we were beaming down? Does he know we're here to get him?" he asked in slight exasperation. It didn't sit well with him that Spock, his regulation-toting-First Officer, wasn't present when Kirk was exchanging formalities with possible Federation members. Possible because Kirk still hadn't learned whether or not Spock had been successful in convincing the Altririans to sign the treaty for admission. He still didn't know if the entire month Spock spent down here on this planet was a complete waste of time.

And, if he were being honest with himself, it _did _hurt him a little bit that Spock was not there to see him upon his arrival; that after one month of being apart, the Vulcan did not wish to see him as much as Kirk wanted to see Spock.

Actually, it hurt a lot.

_Well, what did you expect? You couldn't even tell him goodbye, you were content to send him down to this planet for a month without so much as a 'good luck'. I wouldn't come greet you either, _a voice inside him hissed, and Kirk couldn't help but agree with it. The way he treated Spock a month ago? He didn't blame him for not being there now.

"He has been informed, Captain Kirk. I trust he has just lost track of the time." Kirk felt his heartbeat quicken at that. Spock was Vulcan. He _never _lost track of time. "I shall send a servant to fetch him," Qu'ale finished, and motioned for someone behind the trio that Kirk could not see.

"Actually—," Kirk cut in with a raised hand, "if you don't mind, I'd like to go get him myself," he smiled and thrust his hands into the pockets of his pants. "I'm kinda curious to see where he's been living for the past thirty days to tell you the truth," he lied easily and caught Bones' eye. His friend of course could see right through the bullshit. While a small part of Kirk _was_ a little curious about Spock's living situation for the past month, he really just wanted to see the Vulcan personally, and without everyone lingering around him. He wanted to apologize for the way he'd treated him on that last day before he did anything else in the name of the damn Federation.

And…he really _really_ just wanted to see Spock period, and sending someone to go get him, and then bring him back here would just take too much damn time. Kirk wasn't an impatient man, but at that moment…his patience had worn thin.

"I…suppose that would be acceptable. But, perhaps we could sign your treaty first?" Qu'ale asked hopefully. "There is a city function taking place in three hours, and I and my colleagues would like ample time to prepare…"

Kirk cut him off again, "Wait, so you _are_ signing the treaty?" he asked with a hint of surprise and glanced at Bones eagerly. "Then, I take it the negotiations went well?" he furthered, his chest beginning to bubble with excitement.

The Ambassador smiled at him. "Oh yes, yes, Captain. They went very well. Your…First Officer was more than accommodating throughout our _talks_. He is a very skilled diplomat."

Kirk felt a wave of relief pass through him at the news, and for a moment, Spock slipped from his mind. When he had left Altriri IV…his hopes had not been high. As far as he could tell, most of the Council had disapproved of the admission, and plenty had let him know in the most verbal of ways. Honestly, he'd already counted this mission a failure, just the like previous ones.

That's why when he had beamed down there to collect his First Officer, he'd expected the worst. He'd expected Spock to have failed, but apparently the Vulcan hadn't. Spock had pulled through for him, like he always did. Kirk felt a wave of guilt hit him for doubting the brilliant Vulcan in the first place.

_I should've let him handle it from the very beginning…then he wouldn't have had to stay here for a month, _Kirk thought regretfully, and thinking of Spock was all it took for his relief to take second place to the current state of his First Officer. He could be happy about the treaty later. Right now, he wanted to see Spock. Like yesterday. 

"So, if you don't mind, I would like to get this signing business finished with…" Qu'ale went on casually, and motioned to a few of his colleagues, but Kirk was waving him down again. A look of irritation passed over Qu'ale's face, but he schooled it into a large smile.

"Actually, Ambassador, I'd really rather get my First Officer first. He needs to be here for the signing. Regulations and all," he interrupted, and it wasn't a lie. Spock really _did _need to be there when Kirk and the Ambassador signed the treaty; but again, that wasn't the reason he wanted to go see Spock.

Ambassador Qu'ale, he could tell, was mildly put out but he didn't protest. "Of course, Captain Kirk. Formalities must be upheld, and as new members of your Federation, what better way to begin our partnership than by upholding them. I will have Ch'iora take you to his quarters. We will await your return," Qu'ale said politely, and gestured to a broad-chested male who had been standing idly near the doors. The guy must've been seven foot easily, and again Kirk was reminded how small humans were compared to these people. Hell, even Vulcans weren't that tall usually, and when they were, it was few and far between. Spock was taller than Kirk, but here, he must've felt like a midget. Not that the Vulcan would ever admit to that.

"Captain Kirk, I request that you follow me," the servant that Kirk assumed was Ch'iora gestured to him, and when Kirk proceeded to follow, Bones moved as well.

"Bones, can you wait here? I'd…I'd kinda like a few moments alone with Spock," Kirk halted him awkwardly, his hand roaming anxiously through his hair.

Bones sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "Fine Jim, but make it quick, I wanna make sure he's not still suffering from that flu, and I wanna make sure it's not contagious…" his friend answered in an unusually loud voice, almost so that he was sure he had been heard.

"Fine Bones, I'll be right back…"

"_Jim—," _Bones cut in hastily and quietly just as Kirk turned to follow the scowling servant.

"What, Bones?" Kirk asked a little impatiently. Jesus was he _ever_ going to get to see Spock today?

"I want you to watch him closely. I _know _I vaccinated Spock for something as pathetic as the flu almost seven months ago in his biannual examination. There's no way he's suffering from that. It has to be something else," Bones explained in a hushed voice so no one could hear, and he actually sounded worried about the Vulcan.

"It's probably this damn planet, Bones. And Spock just didn't want to be rude and offend them, so he lied and told them it was something else. I know he says Vulcans can't lie, but I'm calling bullshit on that. Don't worry, I'll be watching him closely," Kirk reassured the doctor before turning and nodding to the slightly wary Ambassador, and following Ch'iora out into the corridor.

Kirk hadn't really gotten a chance to see the palace when he'd been here the first time, what with the length of time he had been able to stand actually being here. As he was led through them this time though, he errantly wished he could stop and admire the beautiful architecture, but already his head was beginning to ache, and his chest already starting to restrict.

_God, how did Spock stand this? _he thought in awed horror as he followed after Ch'iora through an endless amount of corridors. He had only been down here for a few minutes, and already he was starting to lose his shit. To think that he had sent Spock down here to live for a month…

_No, he said he was Vulcan, and that Vulcans weren't affected like humans. He's probably fine, God I hope he was telling me the truth…_Kirk thought worriedly to himself as he was brought to a stop right in front of a door that must've been the entrance to Spock's room. He felt his heart leap minutely, for just behind that door was Spock.

Ch'iora had barely raised his closed fist to knock on the door before the muffled sound of heated voices sounded through it. Kirk lifted an eyebrow in bemusement. Ch'iora paused just before his large knuckles struck the door; apparently he was just as curious as Kirk was, and they both shared a glance with one another.

One of the voices grew louder, and although Kirk couldn't make out what the words were, he knew an argument when he heard one. Hell, he'd been in enough of them know. The voice talking now didn't sound like Spock, but whoever it was…they were pissed.

Suddenly, a voice Kirk recognized as Spock's became audible, almost as if he were attempting to talk over the other infuriated voice.

Feeling a bout of protectiveness wash over him, Kirk was just about to push Ch'iora out of the way, and barge on in when he heard loud footsteps marching over toward them from the other side. Whoever it was, they were headed toward the door.

Before Kirk could react, Ch'iora backed up, turned abruptly, and pushed him away from the door merely seconds before it opened. It was obvious to him that Ch'iora did _not _want to be caught eavesdropping. And why? Who was Spock talking to?

The door swung open theatrically, and a familiar Altririan in ceremonial robes stood there, momentarily surprised by the two people standing awkwardly in the corridor. But that surprise quickly shifted into suspicion, and he narrowed his eyes. Beside him, Kirk felt Ch'iora stiffen.

The other Altririan looked familiar to Kirk. _Very _familiar, but he couldn't remember the guy's name. He just remembered that he was some kind of priest on the planet, and that he'd seen him before in the main hall one month ago. Oddly enough, this _priest_ had been talking to Spock then as well.

"Ch'iora. What are you doing here?" the priest hissed, and Kirk inwardly stiffened at the menacing tone. So far, every Altririan he'd conversed with had been polite. Perhaps indifferent at times, but polite nonetheless.

"I beg forgiveness, High Priest S'teth…"

_S'teth! That's the dude's name! _Kirk exclaimed mentally as the name came rushing back to him.

"I was merely escorting Captain _Kirk _here to his First Officer. He and two of the Starfleet humans have beamed down to finish the negotiations. The High Council is currently awaiting Commander Spock's presence," Ch'iora answered flatly, and with a hint of disdain in his voice. It didn't take a genius to know that Ch'iora obviously didn't like the priest, which made Kirk kind of nervous because he'd obviously been around Spock enough this past month to argue with him.

"It's nice to see you again, Priest S'teth—,"

"_High_ Priest, Captain," the alien cut him off with a curl of the lip. Kirk repressed an eye roll. He really didn't like this guy.

"Of course, my apologies, it's good to see you again, High Priest S'teth. I'm here to collect my First Officer," Kirk paused and attempted to look around the large alien into the room for Spock, but the priest would not move. "We've got a treaty to sign from what I've been hearing, and he's gotta be present for that…" he finished awkwardly. _Plus, I'd really just like to actually SEE my fucking Vulcan sometime today, _he thought irately, and instantly paused at such a thought. Since when did he start referring to Spock as _his_ Vulcan?

"I'm sure he does, I'm finished here anyway," S'teth proclaimed through gritted teeth, and glared over his shoulder back into the room at a person Kirk could not see, though he had a good idea who it was. "Farewell, Spock, I hope we will meet again, it has been a pleasure to have you on our planet," the alien added disdainfully before he shoved his way past Kirk and Ch'iora, and disappeared down the corridor.

"Well, _that _guy was an asshole. Thank God hewasn't on the High Council, or this mission would've been over before it began," Kirk commented sourly and hesitantly stepped into the room. Ch'iora, oddly enough, didn't follow. Instead, he turned and exited. Kirk was grateful for that, he really wanted to see Spock alone, and not with a seven foot giant standing awkwardly in the room with them.

Kirk shut the door softly behind him, and turned slowly back around to face—except he didn't see Spock.

At least not at first.

The room was loud with exotic decoration, and after adjusting his eyes to the glamorous décor, what with the large bathtub that could've been a swimming pool, and the mountains upon mountains of fabric and color adorning the walls, the gigantic fireplace in the back, and…was that a pallet?—Kirk finally found who he was looking for seated over in the furthest corner of the large room, surrounded by incense. He had his back turned to him, and it appeared as if he was meditating, yet he wasn't in the meditation robes Kirk had sometimes seen him in on the Enterprise. Briefly, Kirk wondered why; if Spock was meditating, he was not doing it in front of the fireplace. He knew a little bit about the Vulcan's meditation habits, and Kirk would've thought that that fireplace would have provided a nice focal point for him. But, maybe Kirk had been wrong about Spock's meditation preferences.

Again, Kirk repressed a stab of unease and dare he say it, hurt, when Spock still refrained from turning around. Surely the Vulcan had heard him close the door, so why was he not acknowledging his presence?

"Uh, Spock? It's me, Jim." Instantly Kirk palmed his forehead in exasperation. _It's me Jim? I'm pretty sure he knows who you are, dumbass, _he thought to himself stupidly before chancing closer to the seated Vulcan.

Spock's shoulders stiffened slightly, but then relaxed again, and he turned his head just enough for Kirk to make out the side of his cheek, but not enough for Kirk to see his entire face.

"…Captain," Spock acknowledged in the quietest voice Kirk had ever heard from him. It didn't sound like him at all, and that was enough to immediately put him on edge with concern.

"Hey Spock," he started hesitantly and shuffled his feet. "I came to get you. The Ambassador said that he'd told you the Enterprise had come back into orbit, but that you've been sick and, and you were resting," Kirk stepped closer, "and that's why…" he paused yet again because Spock had still not turned around despite the increasing closeness. "Are you okay? Why don't you look at me?" Kirk chanced diffidently when he came to be only five feet from the Vulcan. Spock always gave him his complete attention when speaking. He _always _endeavored to keep eye-contact.

Spock released a minute sigh, which was actually kind of shocking to hear, and finally began to stand himself up from the floor. The way he completed the motion was a bit awkward, like it was difficult for him to stand, and Kirk honestly wasn't sure what to make of that. When Spock finally managed to turn around though, Kirk's breath caught in his chest.

To put it simply, Spock looked like shit.

Sure his hair was neat and perfectly combed as it always was, even if a little bit longer than Kirk was used to, and he was donning his science blues, which, as always were perfect and wrinkle free; but his face? His face was the reason for Kirk's sudden concern and shock.

He wasn't bruised or anything to that extreme, but where once his cheeks were full and held a slight green tinge to them, they had now gone hollow and ashen pale. His ears stood out more on the side of his head because he had gotten noticeably thinner since one month ago, as if he hadn't been eating.

Those things were startling to see, but it was the eyes that really did it for Kirk, that really made him worry. For underneath them, dark green circles lingered like a massive shadow darkening the Vulcan's face, and where once there was an inquisitive, almost curious stare there that always seemed to look and inspect everything in the room, now…now Spock's eyes looked distant, closed off, almost dead.

"Spock…" Kirk started and instinctively moved forward, his hand outstretched as if to take the Vulcan by the shoulder. He was so caught up at the desolate sight of the Vulcan that he had reacted without thought. He only became aware of his actions when Spock took two noticeable steps backwards, away from him.

Kirk had to admit…that stung a little.

"Sorry…it's just," Kirk placed his hands back at his side and glanced at the floor, suddenly feeling unbearably anxious. What the hell were you supposed to say to someone you haven't seen in a month? "You look like you don't feel well. Are you still sick with this…this flu you told them you had? Is that why you look like you've been living in a cave for the past month?" he decided to say with a hint of authority in his voice because honestly, Spock was starting to scare him a little bit. He knew the Vulcan kept things to himself, but this was something different.

Spock kept his face impassive when he answered. "Negative, Captain. I regret that I had fallen ill almost two weeks into my stay on Altriri IV, but it does not ail me at present. I am…merely suffering from a lingering fatigue as a result of the illness. I have found it difficult to fully recuperate on this planet," Spock paused and blinked at him. "When can we beam back up to the Enterprise?" Spock asked him, his voice becoming uncharacteristically desperate, almost like he couldn't wait to be off Altriri IV. Honestly, Kirk couldn't blame him.

"As soon as we get this treaty signed, Spock. Then we're outta here."

Spock's face fell, and Kirk was taken aback by the sheer emotionalism exhibited in the expression. Just what the fuck had happened here? Then he remembered Priest S'teth, and how irritated the Altririan had appeared.

"Spock…that guy that was in here, High Priest _S'teth_," Kirk spat the name out like it was a disease. "I heard you two arguing in here. What was all that about?" he finished suspiciously. Perhaps that priest was the reason Spock was so…closed off.

Spock blinked at him again, and Kirk knew he was trying to come up with something to say, but before he could reiterate the question, Spock answered him. "High Priest S'teth did not favor admission, Captain. His reason for visiting my quarters was an attempt to convince me to withdraw the invitation. He had…hoped that you had not arrived to finalize the admission. I informed him that that would be quite impossible. Argument ensued. It is nothing to concern yourself with," Spock's answer was clear and concise, but much colder and distant that Kirk was used to hearing from his stoic First Officer.

"That's what you two were arguing about? Admission?" Kirk asked again, this time skeptically.

"Affirmative, Captain. The High Priest is no diplomat, and I cannot begrudge him his argument. However, it has been settled. You will not see him again," Spock answered with a hint of finality.

"Okay, Spock," Kirk started with a sigh. "But if he tries arguing with you again, I'm going to set him straight. This planet's decisions regarding the Federation lie with the High Council, not him, and he shouldn't be taking it out on you," he finished sincerely, because Spock had just been doing his job. How dare this _High _Priest get angry at Spock about it.

"I believe there is a treaty waiting to be signed, Captain," Spock stated curtly, effectively changing the subject, and Kirk knew that was all the information he was going to get out of him. But now that he'd mentioned the treaty, it reminded Kirk of the entire reason why he'd wanted to see Spock alone in the first place. He needed to get this off his chest, before they both headed to the main room.

"Spock, listen, before we go sign the treaty…I wanted…" Kirk looked away in chagrin and ran a hand through his hair before finally meeting Spock's eyes again. "I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you last time we saw each other. You didn't deserve that."

Spock stiffened slightly, but Kirk continued before he lost his nerve. He wasn't good at bearing his soul, especially to Spock, who might not understand his feelings anyway. "And…if it's any consolation, as soon as we warped out of Altririan space, I regretted my actions, and almost turned the entire ship around. I should've been there when you left, and I wasn't. Again, I'm sorry," Kirk finished sincerely, and with a hint of longing. He wanted—needed—Spock to know that he wasn't mad at him. And why? Would the Vulcan even understand his need to assure him of that?

Spock straightened up slightly before responding. "Your consolation is unnecessary, Captain. I was not offended by your actions at that time. You are the captain of a starship; I cannot expect you to ignore your duties to provide some variation of placation that you assume I require," his tone was cold and indifferent. It made Kirk feel about three feet tall, and if he were being honest, it kind of made him feel stupid for even attempting to apologize.

"Spock, I didn't spend a whole month away from you, and feeling like the biggest asshole, to just start fighting with you again," Kirk commented softly.

"We are not _fighting_, Captain. You are merely endeavoring to apologize for an offense you did not commit. By taking the time to exhibit your emotionalism, you are thereby monopolizing time better spent in the main room where there is a Federation treaty waiting to be signed and finalized."

Kirk stiffened at the blatant dismissal, and the reiteration of going and getting the treaty signed. He wanted to argue further, to get this logical Vulcan in front of him to just understand, but Spock was right. There was a treaty to be signed. "…Fine Spock," he breathed out in defeat and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes peering around the glamorous room. This was not the way he had imagined this conversation going. In fact, he felt no better than he did one month ago after Spock had beamed off the ship. "Well, are you ready to go then?" he furthered tiredly. At least the sooner they got the treaty signed, the sooner they could leave this emotion-sucking planet, and hopefully Spock would start to feel better once he got away from it. Kirk didn't care what the Vulcan had said before. It was beyond obvious that the planet had affected him, despite his constant reassurances that he _would not_ be affected.

_Vulcans can't lie, my ass…_

Spock didn't answer verbally. He merely nodded his head, turned around, gingerly bent down, and picked up his incense and meditation mat. Kirk watched him walk over to a duffel bag and place the items inside. Feeling awkward just standing there staring at him, Kirk decided to help Spock pack his things; even though the entire process was awkward as hell.

Unable to take the silence anymore, Kirk started speaking. "By the way, Spock…nice job on the treaty. I was so sure that Altriri IV was a lost cause, but as always, you proved me wrong." Kirk had been busy hunting the room for any more of Spock's personal belongings that the Vulcan might have missed, so he didn't notice Spock stiffen behind him, stare at the wall blankly, and purse his lips.

"I should've just listened to you to begin with. We would've gotten this mission done and over with a long time ago and…" Kirk paused when his eyes began roaming over the colorful pallet in the middle of the room. Before he hadn't had much time to inspect it because his attention was on Spock, but now nothing was stopping him. "Is this where you slept, Spock?" he rambled on as he bowed down and fingered the purple comforter of the pallet on the floor. The material was smooth as silk, but he couldn't imagine spending a month sleeping on the floor. His back would kick his ass by the end of it.

Again, Kirk wasn't watching Spock, so he didn't notice how pale the Vulcan got, or how still he'd gone.

"Spock?" Kirk probed when he didn't receive and answer, and turned to face him. But Spock wasn't looking at him. He was looking at the pallet, a strange glint in his eyes that Kirk had never seen before. It was an unsettling sight to witness. "Spock?" he chanced again, albeit more softly this time.

Spock blinked, and shook his head minutely as if to dispel a thought. He then glanced up at Kirk, no signs on his face that he'd just spaced out for about twenty seconds and had been completely unresponsive.

Kirk tried hard not to be troubled by that, but it was hard. "Spock…you sure you're okay?" he tried again. Perhaps Spock still was ill, and he just didn't know it.

"I am functional, Captain," Spock responded impassively, his face as blank as Kirk had ever seen it.

_And what's with all this 'Captain' bullshit? We're alone here!_ he thought in mild irritation after having just come to the realization that this entire time, Spock had yet to refer to him as _Jim._

"May I suggest that we proceed to the main room at this time? The High Council are no doubt waiting on us to arrive," Spock suggested placidly, and looked to his sufficiently packed duffel bags without sparing Kirk another glance.

"Yeah…I guess we better not keep them waiting, don't want all your hard work here to go to waste because they got offended with our punctuality," Kirk laughed drily, unable to help himself. If it were possible though, the statement only made Spock's expression become even more blank. When they got back to the Enterprise, Bones was definitely giving his First Officer a full examination. Something just wasn't right.

((oOo))

It was exceedingly difficult for Spock to endure the formalities that was _treaty signing_. His head pounded relentlessly, as it had been doing since he had used the last hypo that that healer had left for him. He had not seen her since their last encounter, and judging by her disdain toward him, he was in no hurry to seek her out for more medication to quell the constant migraine.

Jim had lingered near him throughout the entire affair, despite Spock's attempt at avoidance. He could tell that Jim was hurt by his behavior, but it could not be helped. Spock did not wish to taint his captain with the unbearable feelings that constantly overwhelmed him, and…there was another feeling burning deep within him that encouraged his avoidance, but either he could not identify it, or he did not wish to out of fear. Either one was disturbing though.

Dr. McCoy had of course provided the usual dramatic upheaval over him when he had entered in behind Jim into the main room.

"Jesus, Spock! I told you to take care of yourself! When's the last time you've eaten?" The doctor had reprimanded whilst scanning him over with the tricorder. Fortunately, all of the _internal _injuries he'd suffered chronically at the hands of S'teth had been thoroughly repaired by the priest himself. Apparently the alien had acquired an Altririan version of a dermal regenerator, which had been quite sophisticated, and had been tutored by someone on how to utilize it; thus making the need for another healer—a third party— inapplicable. It had been in S'teth's best interest as well as Spock's that no one else aside from Ch'iora find out about their numerous encounters over the past two weeks.

Apparently, Priest S'teth had been quite confident in Ch'iora's continued silence, which hinted at the priest obviously holding a great amount of power over the servants. The healer that had seen to Spock over those three days following his first encounter with the priest had successfully remained undetected.

However, despite the Altririan healer's opinion of him, Spock would have greatly preferred her to the priest. S'teth had not possessed the forte, detachment, or gentle hands of a doctor, and it showed in the way he handled the regenerator whilst repairing Spock's most private injuries. It had been a painful and sometimes sexual experience that Spock would rather just erase from his mind. In fact, he wished he could erase the entire month from his mind. Especially because of the way it was provoking him to act in front of his captain and the doctor.

The sight of McCoy's tricorder as it waved about him had made Spock slightly nervous. What if the priest had missed something? What if the doctor saw the injuries, and naturally drew a conclusion? Would he tell Jim? Would he be forced to tell Jim since an injury was involved?

Fortunately though, S'teth had been quite thorough the day before, and the injuries had not been severe enough anymore to show up on a tricorder.

"Well, Bones? How is he?" Kirk had probed the doctor subtly just as McCoy pocketed the tricorder, and set Spock with a scowl.

"There's some obvious signs of malnourishment…"

Jim immediately frowned, which prompted Spock to interrupt. "I regret that the Altririan diet is primarily composed of animal byproduct. Therefore I did not consume much sustenance during my stay," Spock cut him off curtly. He did not wish for the doctor to over exaggerate his condition, and therefore cause his captain more undo worry.

"_And_ severe signs of exhaustion, muscular fatigue which could be a lingering side-effect of this illness you've apparently had, Spock," Dr. McCoy paused and fixed Spock with a knowing look before continuing. Spock felt a surge of nervousness at the expression. Had the doctor seen something else and had just refrained from saying anything in front of the captain? "Other than that, he seems to be fine, Jim," the doctor finished and turned back to Jim.

Jim didn't look convinced, but nodded in understanding all the same. The doctor turned back to Spock. "My prescription, Spock? As soon as we get back, you need to eat a good meal, and get some sleep. You look like you need both, and I have no doubts that an antibiotic would help speed your recuperation. I put some in your medkit before you came down here, but there's stronger stuff on the Enterprise."

"Of course, Doctor," Spock replied quietly and proceeded to walk away from the two men. He could feel their eyes trailing after him as he walked to a bare corner of the main room, and given his keen ears, Spock was able to catch the beginning of their conversation.

"I'm telling you Bones, something's not right. Earlier when I went to get him, he was arguing with someone…"

"Who?"

"His name is S'teth, and he's some kind of priest on this planet. I remember him a little bit from a month ago. Spock said that apparently this _priest_ didn't like the fact that his people accepted the invitation to become a part of the Federation…"

Spock's steps faltered at the mention of the argument between him and the priest. It had been careless on his part to have been so loud as to have been overheard by Jim. What if Jim had heard the nature of the argument instead of just the sheer volume of it? What if he had learned that what the priest had actually been furious about was the fact that Spock had not agreed to stay on the planet with him?

"No one will ever care for you like I do. I implore you to stay with me," S'teth had asked him seductively back there in that room minutes before Jim had arrived. Spock, who had been attempting to meditate before he was to meet his captain, declined the offer. Unfortunately, it had angered the priest. "You must stay with me, Vulcan! I have seen it in your mind, your self-loathing, your feelings of worthlessness, you belong here!" Priest S'teth had shouted at him in response.

"_Kroykah!" _Spock had started heatedly just as the Priest had made a grab for his hand. Surprisingly, S'teth had retracted his hand instead of continuing to force it, and Spock had taken a few deep breaths before continuing. _"_I will not stay with you. Our deal is complete, and I am returning to my ship. I owe you nothing else," Spock had hissed in return in an attempt to keep his voice at a low volume, but still get his point across. Just the mere thought of staying here permanently with S'teth had almost made him vomit. He had come to know every inch of the alien that stood in front of him, and now that the Enterprise had come back into orbit, he had wished desperately to be rid of him, and of his empathic and physical influence.

The priest had scowled at him, and a moment later had grabbed him roughly by the chin whilst backing him into furthest wall. S'teth's strength greatly outdid his own, so Spock could not help but be pushed along. The fear he had become so familiar with had seeped into him at the gesture.

"You are no good to your ship now, and I _know_ you know this. Vulcan repression cannot hide who you really are," S'teth had leaned his face dangerously close to Spock's. "I have felt it in your mind, you have dishonored them, you have disgraced them. You are a weak being, Spock…but I am willing to overlook those shortcomings because I have come to be so fond of you…" S'teth had let his voice trail off seductively again, and made to grab the front of Spock's pants. Spock had immediately stiffened at the familiar gesture. "Stay with me, where you still serve a purpose…" he furthered, and had begun to palm Spock's length through the fabric aggressively.

A jolt of nausea and fear had shot through the Vulcan along with a sharp stab to the head, and he had instantly used all of his strength to shove the alien away from him. He hadn't known where this bravery was coming from. Perhaps it had been the fact that the Enterprise had come back into orbit, and he now had a place to escape to where the priest could not get him.

"Step away from me…" Spock had hissed dangerously, his head feeling like it might explode since S'teth had had no shame about attempting to enter his mind again right there in the room.

S'teth had growled dangerously at him, and opened his mouth to retort, but Spock had beaten him to it.

"You will keep _away _from me! Our association is finished! I am leaving and there is nothing you can do about it without alerting the High Council of your own illegal deeds…" Spock had shouted, surprising himself with the hostility in his voice. However, it had had the intended effect, for S'teth had backed off, hurled a few choice words at him, and had turned to flee the room. Spock had immediately gone back over to his meditation mat, and all but collapsed onto the floor in an attempt to quell his migraine. It would not do well for his captain to see him in such a state.

Of course, then he had heard Jim's voice at the door; had heard him conversing with the priest, the alien he had come to know so intimately over the past two weeks. Fortunately though, their conversation had been brief, clipped even, and S'teth had continued with his departure.

Living on a planet completely alien for the past month, Spock had wished more than anything to see Jim's face again; the one face in the world he could trust. The one face he knew would not hurt him. But despite his wishes, the Vulcan had not been able to turn and face his captain. He had feared that if he did…his shame, and what he had done with the priest would be revealed on his face. How could he permit the captain to look upon him, when Spock could barely look upon himself?

It was this belief which had led to Spock currently doing everything in his power to avoid Jim, at least while he was still here on Altriri IV. He hastily quickened his steps in the direction of the corner that would put the most distance between him and the other beings in the room. He was beyond relieved that Jim had not overheard the nature of the argument between him and priest, because it meant that the cover story he had provided would have a greater chance of being convincing. However, Spock knew that Jim still had questions, and was still suspicious of him. Eventually, he would have to supply an answer to those questions.

After what felt like an eternity, Spock finally reached the other side of the room, and literally shrank into the wall of the corner. He leaned his aching head up against the cool wall, relishing in the primitive relief if gave him. Jim was still eyeing him from across the main room with worry, most likely still debating in his vivid human brain whether or not he should follow Spock over.

While Spock held a primal wish to be near his captain, if only to surround himself with the soothing, gentle hum of the mind he had grown such a fascination for in the past year, he knew he could not. He could not permit himself to indulge in such a thing, lest the truth be discovered.

At the same moment, Ch'iora, who had been standing quietly up against a wall like the other servants, approached him hesitantly. His close proximity was painful, and a sudden sharp pang befell Spock, making him whimper slightly. Ch'iora instantly halted, and gazed cautiously at him. Since Jim was still staring at him, Spock did not grab his head like he usually did in these situations. It would only cause his captain to become more suspicious.

"Mr. Spock? Are you alright?" Ch'iora asked so quietly that no one could hear him except for the Vulcan. He understood the need for secrecy, and Spock was grateful to him. However, he wished that the alien would not come near him. He might have come to consider Ch'iora the only ally on the planet, but he was still Altririan, and Spock had lost his ability to shield from them long ago. If he was not careful…the nosebleeds might start again, and that was the last thing he wished for Jim to witness, or Dr. McCoy for that matter, who would no doubt wish to administer a more thorough examination as a result, and then find out the truth…

"I am functional, Ch'iora…" Spock started with difficulty, the instinct to grab his head becoming overbearing. He needed Ch'iora to step away from him. "I do not mean offense, but perhaps you could remain distant from me. I…I cannot shield myself from you…" he finished, becoming slightly breathless. Jim, he noted, was beginning to make his way over hastily. He expertly weaved in and out of varying members of the council, despite his eyes being dead set on Spock's the entire time.

Ch'iora considered his words, and immediately looked disgusted with himself. "Of course, Commander. I apologize for causing you pain, sometimes…I forget the extent of my physiology as it pertains to you," the alien apologized profusely while backing away. While it hurt to speak, Spock could not resist reassuring the alien that he had not taken offense from his company.

"No apologies are necessary, and…I thank you for all that you have done for me. Live long and prosper, Ch'iora," Spock managed, knowing that this would likely be the last time he conversed with the servant.

"Farewell, Spock. May a good epoch find you," and with that, Ch'iora was gone, and in his place stood a frowning Jim, staring after the servant curiously.

"Do you know that guy, Spock?" Jim asked hesitantly, his eyes peering off in the direction that Ch'iora had walked off in.

Spock took a deep breath and straightened himself up. It would not do to look weak or distressed in front of his captain.

"I do, Captain. He is…an amenable being," Spock answered as he too, trailed his eyes after the servant until he was out of sight.

"Well, I'm glad you had at least one friend down here, Spock," Jim commented, and they both turned to look at one another.

Spock stiffened at his words, for the way he had acquired such a _friend_ would forever remain a nightmare in his mind.

"Captain, when are we leaving the planet? The treaty is signed, therefore our presence is no longer required," Spock rushed out as his forehead pulsated in agony. He knew his tone sounded desperate—emotional even, but he could not help it. If he didn't leave soon, he would no doubt suffer another nosebleed or perhaps worse, especially if S'teth decided to make an appearance. It did not help that the Enterprise was in orbit, which only tempted the Vulcan further that the end to his head pains lingered just a beam-out away.

"I'm just tying some things up, Spock, and then we're leaving. However, the ambassador _did _invite us to attend the ceremony in the city tonight if…"

"Jim…" Spock interrupted him and closed his eyes briefly.

Instantly Jim went stiff and quiet at Spock's desperate inflection of his name. Spock realized this was the first time he had used it since meeting the captain again. "I understand that it might offend our hosts if we do not accept their invitation, but…I…" Spock attempted to finish his statement, but was finding the endeavor extremely difficult. How could he express his frantic wish to return to the Enterprise _without_ sounding desperate? How could he tell Jim that more than anything, he just wanted to leave Altriri IV and never return _without_ his emotions giving him away?

Fortunately, he didn't have to though.

"It's okay, Spock. You don't have to say anything else. We're getting out of here," Jim said gently, and chanced a hesitant step forward as if to place a hand on the Vulcan's shoulder. Spock eyed the hand, and the expression on his face must have dissuaded his captain from actually touching him, because he retracted the hand with a minor wince, shoved it in his pocket as if afraid of it, and walked off toward the doctor. His shoulders, Spock noted, were hanging lower than before.

Spock continued to watch him go, and resisted the urge to call out to him, to tell him not to leave him alone in the corner of the main room with only his betraying thoughts as company. He wished to ask these things of his captain, but knew he couldn't.

**A.N. The next chapter will have Spock finally back on the Enterprise, and it's about to get very, very angsty. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, and I might be able to update again this week…we will see how fast I can edit, and I'll only do it if it doesn't cut into the time I've set aside for perdition part 2. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! (possibly? Hopefully?) **

**Oh, and the chapter title for this comes from a lyric in the song, "My Wall" by Korn. Describes Spock's feelings on Altriri IV to a T. **


	5. No Light, No Light

**A.N. Hello again everyone! Yes, I'm doing what I said I **_**wouldn't **_**do, and I'm updating again the day after another update. However, I have a good reason. For one thing, I wanted to give you guys one more chapter before my busy weekend starts up and I wanted to use the rest of the week to finish some things on the perdition chapter I'm working on. Also some of the reviews I got were just so amazing that I just **_**had**_** to get this one out. Consider it my token of appreciation? **

**I want to extend some major thanks, again, to cocinelle who has actually put together a playlist on youtube that consists of songs that actually have inspired this story, as well as my perdition trilogy. The link to it if you are interested is: playlist?list=PLsHIYZeJnYovkN6nKeTGERfkUzmmM9MLU. You will probably see some chapter titles on there, haha. **

**Warnings for this chapter include implied sexual situations, though not like the last two chapters. **

**Chapter Five:**

**No Light, No Light**

The entire treaty signing had been awkward and painful for Spock. Jim had seemed to take every open opportunity to speak with him when he hadn't been speaking to the High Council, and every time, Spock had cut the conversation short and avoided standing near him. Spock hadn't been able to explain why he continued to avoid the captain. Perhaps it had been that expression of worry that Jim bore toward him when he thought Spock had not been looking? Perhaps he had felt awkward and wary about being so close to Jim in a palace where he had participated in horrible, violent pastimes? Perhaps Spock had feared that if he allowed Jim to linger too close to him, and for too long a time, that his brilliant human mind would see the truth.

By the time they had been ready to beam back up, Jim had stopped trying to talk to him, and why should he not? Jim had attempted to initiate conversation with Spock forty-two times since they had been down on the planet together, and every one of those forty-two conversations had been cut short, redirected onto a different subject, or ended expeditiously. Add to that the fact that Spock just had not wanted to speak period. It had been awkward for Spock after his month on Altriri IV to endure so much conversation and questions.

During his time with the priest, Spock had not done much talking unless he had been asked to say something that was usually crude or degrading; and if it hadn't been words requested of him, S'teth had on numerous occasions ordered him to make some sound that the Altririan had found particular pleasing or gratifying. Spock had uttered words, phrases, and sounds that he never imagined in a million years he would have uttered to please the priest. He had done it to keep the priest out of his mind for as long as possible.

"_You will tell me what I want to hear, Vulcan, or I will punish you…"_

Perhaps that had been why Spock was so reluctant to engage in casual conversation with Jim. Conversation for the Vulcan for the past three weeks had been wholly sexual, and degrading. It had been…difficult for Spock to get himself out of that mindset; to convince himself that the conversations he had with his Captain would remain purely benign; that they did not contain some ulterior motive. Spock could only hope that when he returned to the Enterprise, those difficulties would cease to exist.

In fact, as he stood there beside Jim and listened to him give the order through his communicator for a beam-out; Spock was confident that as soon as he stepped off the transporter pad on the ship, the problems ailing him at present would begin to leave him.

((oOo))

Spock would like to say that as soon as he rematerialized into the familiar white walls of the transporter room; the familiar faces of Montgomery Scott, and Nyota smiling up at him; that his headache dissipated, and the ever-present emotions that flooded within him disappeared. He would like to say that, but that is not what happened.

The same pain that constantly bit at him on Altriri IV was still there, darkening his head, and he could not explain how much that fact had made him despair. He had hoped—_wished_—that his migraine would leave him, or at least lessen in severity. He had hoped that with its' exit, he might be able to feel the shields that had once been there, standing proudly in his head.

But it did not dissipate. It was still there, and the gaping holes in his mind where his mental shields had once been, were still gone. Spock illogically wanted to scream in frustration. At least by screaming, perhaps he could express some of the overwhelming emotions he was feeling.

But, if he screamed, his shipmates, his Captain, would know that something was amiss. He already had his work cut out for him in keeping his friends in the dark. He did not want to make the endeavor more difficult with emotional expression.

_Meditation, _he tried to reassure himself as Nyota bounded up the pad toward him, excitement evident in her expression as well as her emotions. _I have not meditated in some time, perhaps that is why this pain still ails me, _he went on internally as she closed the distance between them until she was standing a foot in front of him.

"Spock! It is so good to see you! I feel like it's been years!" she exclaimed, and then frowned as she inspected him further. "Spock, you look horrible," she chastised, and narrowed her eyes over his shoulder at Jim of all people.

"So I have repeatedly been informed, Lt. Uhura," Spock replied flatly and dismissively, and winced as she took a step backward in hesitation. He did not understand why he insisted on being discourteous to people he considered friends; he just could not help himself. It was yet another thing he would have to meditate on and correct if he was to continue serving amongst the mainly human crew.

"She ain't sayin' nothin' we don't all see, Spock," McCoy cut in brusquely as everyone exited the pad. Jim, oddly enough, kept his position, and had not said a word since they had beamed back. He merely stared at Spock, an unreadable expression on his face.

Spock avoided his gaze just as quickly as he'd caught it. "If my presence is no longer required, I request permission to return to my quarters," he stated in a clipped tone. Nyota winced and looked even more worried.

"Request denied," Jim chided in firmly from behind him. Spock turned to face his Captain as Jim finally stepped off the pad. The thoughtful expression on his face from before had been successfully shrouded in professionalism. Apparently, the Captain had not appreciated being ignored down on the planet. "Go with Bones to sickbay, have him check you out first, and after he's cleared you, meet me in the ready room for a debriefing."

If Spock had had more energy, he would have argued, but it was far simpler just to agree.

"Understood," he answered in monotone, and headed off toward sickbay to undertake what he hoped would not be the revelation of everything he had done on Altriri IV.

((oOo))

"Okay, Spock, I need you to take your shirt off," Dr. McCoy sighed, and noted something on his PADD. The doctor had just examined him again with a tricorder, and Spock had been beyond relieved when the doctor's tricorder failed to pick up any injuries in places that would raise suspicion. Spock did not know much about Altririan dermal regenerators, but apparently they were sophisticated and highly effective. If only the same could have been done for his aching mind.

The Vulcan in question though, who had been sitting rigidly on a bio-bed in a private room of the sickbay, could not help the wave of anxiety that overcame him at the request that had just been made to him.

_Calm yourself, Dr. McCoy only wishes to examine you, he does not wish to take anything else, _he reassured himself. It was illogical to bear those kinds of fears for a man who had never once harmed him in their entire time together, but that wasn't entirely what caused him to be apprehensive. There was another compelling reason why Spock wished to keep his shirt on.

Dr. McCoy looked up from his PADD and scowled when he saw that Spock was still fully clothed. "Spock, seriously. I've been ordered to give you a full examination, and that means the shirt has got to come off. I'd like to see just what losing thirteen pounds in a month looks like anyway…"

Spock took a deep breath and complied. If he didn't, the doctor would just make it an order, and he'd have to do it anyway.

When he had taken the shirt off however, Dr. McCoy, who had had an almost lazy expression on his face, instantly went wide-eyed and gaped at him. "Jesus Spock! What the hell! Where did all these bruises come from?" the man exclaimed, and leaned in closer to touch one. Spock batted his hand away. He did not want to be touched, especially with his raging migraine.

"Your examination does not require you to physically touch me, Doctor. I must ask that you refrain."

"I'm the doctor here, and if I deem it necessary to touch you, I will," the man huffed in response, and glared at him.

Spock, to his shame, flinched under the tone as a memory plagued him. S'teth might not have claimed to be a medical practitioner, but he had stated a sentence very reminiscent of the one Dr. McCoy had just given on numerous occasions. Therefore, it was no surprise when he reacted to the words in the same way that he had then.

"I apologize. Please…continue," he said blankly, and averted his gaze to the wall. As a result, he didn't notice the frown on McCoy's face.

"Look, I'm sorry Spock. I know you Vulcans don't like to be touched," McCoy replied apologetically and retracted his outstretched hand. "It's just…these are some serious bruises, and…you've managed to lose thirteen pounds in a month on top of that," McCoy leveled his eyes at him, "and I want to know why. Your scans aren't showing anything abnormal except for some severe fatigue, and malnutrition. I'm still waiting on your blood tests, but I don't expect those to show anything either except for maybe some vitamin deficiencies from not eating properly," McCoy deadpanned, and when Spock had yet to acknowledge his words, he sighed. "Spock, look at me."

Reluctantly, Spock shifted his head and regarded the doctor with a blank expression. S'teth had given that command numerous times as well, and anytime Spock had refused to give the alien his visual attention, he had been punished.

"Well, Spock? Do you have an explanation for me?" McCoy asked firmly, which brought Spock out of his thoughts.

"You are the Doctor, Dr. McCoy, not I. It is your function aboard this ship to provide the explanation," he retorted placidly.

McCoy narrowed his eyes. "Don't be a smartass, Spock. I'm trying to help you here. Now, where did these bruises come from," he reiterated in a no-nonsense tone.

"I fell in my exploration of the palace's surrounding desert. I had not anticipated the sudden drop in elevation on the surface of which I had been traveling. Altriri IV's gravity is slightly different than what I am accustomed to, hence my inability to avoid the fall," Spock answered immediately. It shamed him how easily the lie came to his mouth.

Dr. McCoy gazed at him suspiciously. "You're saying these bruises happened because you were clumsy?"

Spock bristled at being accused of clumsiness, for he had never been clumsy…at least not physically. However, he would have to lie to keep up appearances. "I would not phrase it so crudely, but essentially you are correct."

McCoy still did not look convinced, but thankfully he didn't press the issue. "Well, I've got some salve you can put on those to help clear them up. And a few encounters with a dermal regenerator wouldn't be a bad thing to do either."

Instantly Spock felt relief wash through him. Fortunately, the priest had refrained from leaving bite marks on him since that first encounter, and he had already taken care of the bruises that had been in the shape of handprints. It had been risky, on S'teth's part, to leave behind the bruises that Dr. McCoy was now inspecting, but it had been a risk that the Altririan had been willing to take.

"I want to leave these here," S'teth had told him the previous day when he'd been completing the task of healing all of Spock's injuries—or, all of the evidence. "I want you to remember me when you are on your ship, pretending like you belong there instead of down here," he had finished lecherously. "You will tell your captain that you fell. It shouldn't be too difficult to convince him. He likely knows how weak and clumsy you are anyway."

Dr. McCoy's gruff voice, fortunately, brought Spock out of his despondent memories again. It seemed Spock could not stop lingering within them. "And about this weight loss, I'm changing your diet card around to include more healthy fats. You were always too skinny to me anyway, and we really need to get that weight back on you. Thirteen pounds might be nothing to someone who is obese, or even a little overweight, but for someone with your body type? It's not a joke, Spock. I can't believe you didn't take care of yourself better."

"Is that all, Doctor?" Spock bit out at the man's incessant fussing. It seemed like all anyone wanted to do was chastise him for not being stronger, or smarter. He knew they spoke the truth, but he just could not take hearing it anymore. It also didn't help that all he wanted to do was bang his head up against the wall to quell the constant pain there.

McCoy glared at him. "No, Spock. That's not all. There's still the matter of this _flu_ you told everyone you had. I _know_ I vaccinated you for that months ago. There's no way you got the flu."

"What is your point, Doctor."

"My _point,_ is what the hell were you sick with, Spock? The ambassador told us you were out of commission there for a little while, so it had to be serious! You've never been sick a day on this ship! And judging by these tricorder scans…it's _still _wreaking havoc on your system!"

Spock almost sighed, but refrained. It was obvious that the doctor would not believe his flu tale, but he could not state his real reasoning. Perhaps though, he could allow some truth to come into his story; a truth that would not enlighten the doctor to the real reason why his body was so worn down.

"The Altririan's empathic influence proved to be overwhelming at times, Dr. McCoy. I did not wish to offend them, so I implied that I suffered from a Vulcan ailment," Spock answered. Before, such an admission might have been hard for him to make, but not in light of what the real admission would have felt like.

Dr. McCoy opened his mouth to respond, but another voice cut him off.

"I knew you were lying to me when you said they didn't effect you. That they only affected your ability to shield us," the new voice stated from the doorway to the private room.

Instantly Spock and McCoy turned their heads to regard none other than James Kirk standing there, glaring at the Vulcan with a hint of hurt in his expression.

"Jim, Dammit! This is an examination! You can't just come barging in here whenever you feel like it!" McCoy hissed in exasperation.

Jim didn't even spare him glance, he only had eyes for Spock, who at that moment, felt utterly exposed since he was still shirtless. Jim of course, let his eyes wander down the length of his bruised torso, and frowned severely at what he saw. Spock resisted the urge to cover himself with his arms. Now, it seemed that he did not like when people let their eyes wander over his body like that. It made him feel like he was being evaluated for some ulterior purpose. Logically, Spock knew he shouldn't feel that way where Jim was concerned, but he found he could not help it. He had spent the past month enduring the priest's roaming eyes. He had spent the past month constantly on his guard in case the priest decided to _visit _him to enact upon the parameters laid forth in the deal Spock had made. He had spent the past month in constant fear of the beings around him; wondering if they shared any of their High Priest's desires and wants.

"What the fuck happened to you, Spock? You look like someone filled their sock with bars of soap, and beat the shit out of you!" Jim exclaimed, his eyes wide with horror.

Spock sat up rigidly, grabbed the blue shirt that was lying beside him, and started to tug it on. "As I already informed the doctor, I fell on the planet and sustained injury."

"And you expect me to believe that bullshit story? What, did you tumble off a cliff?" Jim blurted out with disbelief as he walked further into the room, his anger coming with him.

Beside Spock, McCoy sighed.

"I expect you to take my word as the truth, and be content with that," Spock answered in what he had hoped would be a firm tone, but instead came out as almost a whisper. If anyone could _push his buttons, _it was James Kirk. Despite McCoy being the doctor in the room, Spock was more fearful of Jim finding out the truth before he did.

"Even though you obviously lied about that planet not having a detrimental effect on you, when _clearly_, it did."

"_Jim…_" McCoy attempted tiredly.

"No, Bones! I want to know why he lied to me! Why he's _still_ lying to me!" Jim shouted before glaring at Spock. "You told me once that Vulcans couldn't lie, Spock! Yet here you are, lying," he went on angrily.

Abruptly, Spock stood up from the bio-bed to regard the irate captain, which only made his head erupt in pain. He could feel Jim's anger radiating through him, consuming him, and he couldn't stop it, he had no shields. Unable to stop himself, Spock hefted a hand up and grabbed his forehead in discomfort.

"Spock. Sit down," McCoy ordered in a concerned voice, and attempted to push the Vulcan back down onto the bio-bed.

Spock, who had been so wrapped up in his mental pain, reacted out of learned instinct from his month on Altriri IV, and pushed the doctor firmly away from him, the sheer force of it nearly sending McCoy falling to the floor. To Spock though, hands forcing him to do _anything _just brought back too many harmful memories.

"Do not touch me!" he yelled, and immediately both Jim and Dr. McCoy shared a worried glance with one another. Spock inwardly cursed himself. Had he not sworn to himself that he would keep his composure? His control? That he would not allow what he and Priest S'teth had done effect his life on the ship?

"Spock…" Jim started in a much softer tone, all the previous anger gone, and chanced a step forward. "Spock, what happened to you? What happened down there? Please, just tell me! I want to help you!" he went on desperately. His hands appeared as if they wanted to touch Spock.

Spock almost caved under the imploring tone, and if not the tone, then the irrefutable concern radiating off of his captain. He could feel that Jim _did_ only want to help him, and to understand why he was in so much pain, and why he wished to avoid everyone. The question and declaration of promised help coming from his captain was so sincere, and so desperate, that Spock wanted nothing more than to admit everything right then. He wanted to tell Jim what S'teth had done to him; that he had taken and taken and taken over and over again until there was nothing left, but that he could not even be angry about it because he, Spock the Vulcan, had agreed to it; had asked for it. He wanted to tell Jim how dirty he felt, how ashamed, and how helpless he felt every minute of every day since that first encounter. He wanted Jim to hear his confession, and take charge. There was a small urge in Spock, no doubt his human half, that wanted Jim to perhaps even hold him, and tell him that everything was going to be okay, and that what he had done could be forgiven. He wanted Jim's confidence to replace his own that had been lost. He wanted to forget.

He wanted.

But wanting was a luxury he couldn't afford anymore.

"As I have already informed Dr. McCoy, I am suffering from the prolonged exposure to the Altririan empathic influence, and—please permit me to finish, Captain," Spock stated firmly as Jim opened his mouth to no doubt argue with him again. "Yes, I admit that I implied that I was immune to their abilities…"

"You didn't imply, Spock. You _lied. _You lied about it."

"_However—_," Spock raised his voice at Jim's interruption, effectively drowning him out. "Had I been completely forthcoming, you would never have permitted me to stay on the planet, despite the explicit orders of Admiral Marcus."

"You're sure as shit right about that, Spock! Look what it's done to you! What's it still _doing _to you?! That's not worth a damn mission over some fucking Dilithium!" Jim yelled, all the gentleness that previously lingered in his voice, gone.

"Which is precisely why I evaded the truth. This mission was of paramount importance to the Federation. It was not just the planet's Dilithium deposits at stake here. There was_, _and _remains _to be no one on this ship that is even remotely capable of carrying out the mission I have just completed beside myself," Spock deadpanned, willing his captain to understand that while the Altririans _did_ have a, effect on him, that effect would have paled in comparison to what a human crewmate would have suffered.

Jim snorted and immediately Spock winced as another wave of anger battered against his aching mind. The brief gentleness from before completely gone.

McCoy glanced at Spock uneasily, obviously noticing the wince. "Jim…" he started, not taking his eyes off the Vulcan, but Jim waved him down dismissively, his anger taking complete control.

"Oh? And why's that, huh?" he started, and got right up in Spock's face. The Vulcan stared at him, his gaze unwavering despite the fact that he wanted to retreat from the sudden close proximity. "Is it because the rest of us are just lowly, incompetent humans? And those that aren't human are still not Vulcan? Therefore just as incompetent?"

"Jim, Dammit! Stop this! I know you don't believe that!" Dr. McCoy tried again with slightly more force, but it fell on deaf ears.

"Or perhaps it's another issue entirely, Spock? I understand not all of us have a damn ambassador for a daddy, but that doesn't mean were brainless! Or that we can't handle a damn diplomatic mission when it's thrown our way!"

Spock leaned back slightly, and pursed his lips. Jim narrowed his eyes and followed the Vulcan's retreat, all the while sticking a finger in his chest. Spock resisted the urge to shrink away. "I knew that deep down, you've always thought you didn't belong on this ship; that we're all just a bunch of upstart cadets fresh out of the kiddy pool, and you and your _Vulcan_ high and mightiness are just so far up above us all, but we're not, dammit!" he boomed, the sheer volume of his voice making Spock wince again as his head protested the vibrations in the room. Or perhaps the wince had happened because of the words that had just been uttered toward him.

"Jim! That's enough! You're reacting out of stress from being on that godforsaken planet, and you've got to stop this before you say something you regret!" McCoy attempted again as he yanked his friend back, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him.

Spock, for a moment, was completely speechless and left reeling. How could Jim believe that that was how he viewed the crew of the Enterprise? How could he believe Spock thought him brainless? Incompetent? These were the exact opposites of what he thought of his captain, and his crew. Spock could admit that at first, he had had his doubts about whether or not he belonged on the Enterprise, but it had not been because of issues of incompetency, or doubts about the crew that had saved Earth, the High Council of Vulcan, and quite arguably—the entire Federation. It had been his own self-doubts, and his own insecurities that made him wary of joining the crew of the Enterprise. If they had listened to him when he had been _acting Captain_, Earth would have been destroyed. He had not even been able to protect his mother, let alone her home planet. It had been _Jim's_ plan that had ultimately saved all of them…not Spock's.

But over time, those feelings of inadequacy had started to dissipate. Where once he had been indifferent amongst his colleagues, he had steadily grown to feel accepted by them, respected by them, and even had been able to call a number of them his friends. He had finally found a place where he felt he truly belonged. On the Enterprise, no one chastised him for being _too human, _or _too Vulcan_. No one ever judged him for his heritage, or assumed he would act in a certain way because of it. Aside from the doctor, who had never been sincere in his insults anyway, the crew of the Enterprise had grown to value him just for being who he was, and nothing more. In Spock's entire life, his mother had always been the only one to truly accept him and love him for just being Spock, and nothing more. She didn't hold him to some Vulcan expectation, or to a human expectation. And…the longer he had been on the Enterprise, the more those feelings had started to return, and mainly because of Jim.

Jim was not Amanda, but he had a way of making him feel like his mother used to; he had a way of making Spock feel accepted. Hearing his captain now though, Spock wondered if he would ever feel that way again, and it wasn't Jim's fault. It was Spock's.

Jim assumed he had used diplomacy down on Altriri IV to gain admission. He had done nothing of the sort. He had utterly failed at diplomacy in every aspect of the word. Jim assumed he had used his _Vulcan logic_ to ensure a signed treaty? Again, nothing could have been further from the truth. He had not used logic to sway the Altririans as his father would have been able to do. And why? Because he was not a Vulcan like his father, he was only half of one. But…he wasn't entirely human either. What he had done on that planet, the laws he had broken both morally and legally? Not only had he disgraced his Vulcan heritage, but his human one as well. Most humans would not have done such a thing in his place, and the ones that did—Spock knew—were looked down upon in human society, and what did that say about him?

He was both human and Vulcan, but undeserving of belonging to either one of them. Jim was right. He did not belong here with them. And while it wasn't for the reasons that his captain had stated, he still had arrived at the same conclusion.

"Well, Spock? What have you got to say? Or are you just going to stand there and stare at me like a goddamn robot?" Jim probed him in anger, and attempted to push the doctor away from him, but McCoy held fastly to him.

_Must you always speak like that? Like a computer? _The memory assaulted him full on. _We shall put your mouth to other uses then…_

Spock shook his head to quell the disgusting imagery of what he had done next to the priest, and stared at his captain.

If Spock had been acting logically, he would have explained to Jim that the actual reason why he saw fit to ensure his attendance on that planet above all other individuals was not only because he had been ordered to, but because out of everyone on the Enterprise, he had been the only one who could withstand the Altririans for such a length of time. The mere thought of one of his subordinates, or Jim, staying on that horrid place for a month was too painful to even consider. And…perhaps if S'teth had not done what he had, perhaps if he had refrained from sexual intercourse, Spock might _have_ been able to hold out with minimal damage.

Jim's anger and disappointment toward him was painful, and he wanted nothing more than to correct his Captain's skewed observations and conclusions about him and his intentions. But what was the point? If anything, the one positive thing about the entire argument was that if Jim were mad at him, he would not be concerned about him, which meant that he would cease questioning his well-being, and, as a result, be unable to discover the horrible truth in light of his blinding emotions.

Perhaps _that_ alone was a good enough reason to permit this charade to continue, to have his captain go on believing that, yes…that _was_ the reason why he had lied about the effect of the Altririans. Because Jim could not have succeeded in Spock's place. No one could. It mattered not how that success came about.

Could it mean that he would lose Jim's respect? His friendship? Which, had been something Spock had now realized he had come to value above everything else? Perhaps it did, but if he could keep Jim from the truth, he would. If it would keep him in that chair…he would do anything, and this time, he knew that declaration to be true.

"…I have nothing to say, Captain. I do not deny your accusations, for they do have merit," he paused and forced himself to add, "too often I have to make up for the shortcomings on this vessel because of the crew's incompetency," it was not the first lie Spock had told thus far, but for some reason, it had definitely been the hardest to voice.

Dr. McCoy and Jim both blinked at him in disbelief, but the expression on Jim's face quickly turned into one of desolation. Spock felt a pang in his side at the look on the captain's face, but refrained from speaking. In that instance, it was logical to push his friend away if it meant that it would keep him in the dark. If Spock did not push him away, then there was no doubt the captain would keep questioning him until eventually, he found the truth.

"Jim, he doesn't mean it…it's just the stress…" Dr. McCoy implored him at the look on Jim's face. "Spock, you tell him you don't mean it," McCoy turned and yelled at him, his face becoming beat red.

"I cannot, Dr. McCoy, for that would be a lie."

A deadly silence descended upon the small room.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jim spoke. "Well, it wouldn't be the first one you've told, now would it…" he said in monotone, and turned to walk out.

"Jim, wait a damn second!" McCoy attempted as he followed the man and grabbed him by the shoulder to turn him back around.

"I've heard all I need to hear, Bones. Now let me go, I have a ship to run. I can't waste time here arguing with a robot that thinks I'm incompetent," Jim stated icily. McCoy hesitated a moment, but begrudgingly obliged. "And you…" Jim started again, and narrowed his eyes at Spock. "I want a report on my desk no later than 1900 hours this evening on your time down on that planet. Everything else comes second. Consider that a debriefing, and if it's even a _minute_ late, I will give you an official reprimand," Jim hissed and continued in his exit. If the door had been of the swinging variation, Spock no doubt assumed he would have slammed it behind him.

No sooner had the door shut that the doctor had rounded on him, eyes blazing. "What the _hell_ was that, Spock?"

Spock, who had been staring after the closed door, blinked at him. "You heard the entire conversation, did you not? I can conclude that you can come to some intelligent conclusion as to what _it _was, Dr. McCoy," Spock replied flatly, and began to make his own way toward the door.

"Now wait a second, this examination is not over, Commander…"

"You have completed all of the necessary tests and diagnosis, Dr. McCoy. Furthermore, you have made changes to my diet card, and administered every hypospray you have deemed necessary. Tell me, what other reason do you have for keeping me here?"

"You might be the biggest asshole on this ship at the moment, Spock, but I know you're in pain. I'm a doctor, I _know_ when someone is hiding pain, and you're hurting," McCoy deadpanned with a touch of concern in his voice.

Spock glared at him.

"Pain does not affect me as it does you, Dr. McCoy. I can assure you that it is not a matter to concern yourself with," Spock retorted bitterly, and resumed his march out of the private room.

"At least let me give you a hypo for that headache you're trying to hide…"

Spock faltered, and halted, but he did not turn around. Sometimes he wished the doctor were not so perceptive. "What headache, Doctor?" he finished quietly before walking out, thereby not giving the man a chance to respond. He did not need the man's potions. He did not deserve them. His pain was his own, and he would learn to manage it.

((oOo))

The walk back to Spock's quarters was long and agonizing; for with each step came a wave of pain in his forehead. He had assumed the pain would lessen upon leaving the planet, but it seemed to just grow worse with each passing minute. However, he still hadn't meditated, and that was probably the reason for the continued throbbing.

Most of the crewmembers he walked past in the corridors spared him uneasy glances, which more than likely had to do with his appearance. They hadn't seen him in a month, so of course he would appear drastically different to them with his weight-loss, and noticeably paler complexion. At least they had the good decency to refrain from questioning him. Those that _had_ opened their mouths to speak, quickly closed them, nodded simply at him and walked on by. Spock was grateful for that, he really just wanted to get back to his quarters and medit…

But no.

He couldn't even do that, because he had a report due in less than four hours; a report detailing thirty days worth of happenings.

It wasn't that he _couldn't _complete a report in that amount of time, even though the standard report on such a lengthy mission would at least take a day to procure, given he were human.

No, it was more due to the fact that at least half of said report would have to be fabricated, and Spock did not look forward to lying again, especially in documented form. However, it was necessary given that a majority of his time spent on Altriri IV was spent in High Priest S'teth's company, and under no circumstances could that be mentioned in his official report. Admiral Marcus _had _told him that he didn't even want to _hear _the priest's name mentioned again; therefore, Spock would not mention it.

Once back at his quarters, Spock keyed in his code and walked inside. Automatically the computer detected his presence and activated the lights at 85% as was his custom setting. When the door slid shut behind him, Spock stood there a moment and inhaled deeply. It was…comforting to be back in his room. It was nice to be back in the one space on the ship where no one could bother him, where he could be alone without fear of unwanted company. Where he didn't have to constantly be on guard for a certain visitor who would no doubt make him do things no matter how much they hurt him.

However, that comfort was short-lived; for there were two individuals who had the ability to enter his quarters at anytime; Jim, and Dr. McCoy. Spock knew that both of them could use their override codes to gain entrance to his room, and why did that bother him so much? Why was he constantly comparing people to S'teth? Yes, he had done that on the planet, but why had that instinct followed him to the Enterprise? It was not logical at all. Spock had been on this ship for over a year now, and never once in all that time had the Captain, or Dr. McCoy abused their privileges in such a way.

_Cease these thoughts, Spock. Jim does not wish to harm you, _Spock told himself as he attempted to push the illogical fear far away from himself.

After the fear had passed, Spock's heart panged at the thought of his earlier conversation, or, argument really, back in sickbay. Spock had just told himself that Jim would never harm him, and that his fears were illogical, but Jim's _words_ had hurt him more deeply than he'd cared to admit. They'd left him feeling strangely hollow and cold, and somehow, he felt more alone back on the ship than he had down on the planet.

It unsettled Spock that after a year of getting to know the vibrant, fascinating human, and developing what he had come to coin as a friendship, Jim's perception of him had not changed in all that time. The captain still did not trust him, and this mission had made it all worse because Jim; as intelligent as he was; _knew_ that Spock was harboring a secret, and it obviously angered the human more than he had anticipated. And why should it not? Spock was Jim's First Officer. He had a duty to be honest and truthful with his Captain, and he had not been. Of course Jim was angry with him. Jim expected his First Officer to act accordingly, and he had not. He had lied to his Captain, and had been borderline insubordinate in his blatant insults to him as well as the crew. In fact, reflecting back on the conversation there in his room, Spock was surprised Jim had not reprimanded him on that alone.

However, if his lies kept the captain at bay; if it kept him from digging for more answers; Spock would accept that anger, even it meant the end of their friendship, and what Spock had come to realize had been turning into so much more for him. Perhaps it was for the best though. If Jim really did feel those things that he had said back in sickbay, then perhaps the promise of a friendship that would define them both had just been illogical, wishful thinking.

Sighing heavily, Spock took his duffel bags; which had been brought to his quarters and sat by the door by a yeoman; over to the made bed and began to unpack. First he began to remove his clothes from the bag. He had barely taken out his meditation robes when an errant memory of S'teth pulling them up along his body to expose his posterior ran across his mind. Immediately he felt nauseas as memory after memory began parading through him. That night on the bar's surface had not been the only time S'teth had taken him with these robes on.

_I want you to wear this robe tonight…I want to fuck you with it on in front of the fireplace…_

Spock stared down at his meditation robe and immediately felt the urge to shred it to pieces. It had been a gift from his mother when he had graduated from Starfleet; a once precious garment; but now he could barely stomach looking at it. He hated everything in his duffel bag now, as it only served to remind him of that planet. The items in his bag had been there, and endured everything along with him. Bringing them back up on the ship was like bringing that nightmare along too. It was strange to him that even though he had brought everything back with him, even though he himself was back on the Enterprise, he still felt like something had gotten left behind; that something was still there, back in that room that smelled like sex, and calling out to him.

Shaking his head to dispel the horrible memories that his eidetic memory would likely never let him forget, he managed to remove his clothes garment by garment from the bag as well as his PADD, his meditation mat, and his incense. But when he pulled out the tricorder, his head protested in pain again, and he faltered with a whimper. Instantly he was frustrated. Would this pain ever leave him? Was his mind so damaged that he wouldn't be able to heal himself on his own? Would he ever find relief?

_Calm yourself, Spock. You have not attempted meditation yet…_he tried again to reassure himself, but this time it did little to instill confidence in him. What if…what if meditation _didn't _work? What if this ever-present migraine stayed with him? A constant reminder of Altriri IV and S'teth? A constant reminder of the day he stopped being a Vulcan?

Suddenly, a bout of anger coursed through him and he flung the tricorder up against the wall where it shattered and fell broken to the floor. It felt…surprisingly good to break the object, to finally instill violence onto something else before it could do the same to him, but his headache still lingered.

A soft knock at the door brought him from his musings, and he blinked in its direction. It wasn't 1900 hours yet, so surely Jim wouldn't be the one on the other side. Or…maybe he had reconsidered his disappointment in him, and had come to make amends. Despite the logic behind keeping Jim at bay, there was a large part of him that already missed their previous relationship, and perhaps so did the captain, which led to Jim coming to seek him out to tell him as much. That alone surprisingly caused him to momentarily forget his migraine. However, he didn't have time to ponder what that meant because a second later a familiar, feminine voice sounded through the door, shattering his wish.

"Spock? Spock, are you in there? Let me in," Nyota called worriedly from the other side, and his heart fell at the revelation that it wasn't Jim after all. Jim was still mad at him. He should be relieved about that, but he wasn't.

Spock spared the broken tricorder on the floor a glance before going to open the door. It had barely slid open when Nyota came barreling inside, her eyes taking him in worriedly.

"Nyota…" he started, positioning himself strategically in front of the broken mess on the floor so she would not notice.

"So now it's _Nyota_ again?" she spat bitterly, her gaze shifting from worried to irritated. Spock blinked as he remembered their last conversation. He had not been…very friendly with her back in the transporter room.

"Allow me to apologize…" he started, but she threw a hand up to silence him, and if Spock had learned anything from his brief romantic relationship with the woman in front of him, it was _never _logical tointerrupt her when she decided to speak.

"I don't need an apology, Spock. That's not why I came here. I came here to find out what's wrong with you."

Spock raised an eyebrow, "I do not understand." Though he fully understood just what she was asking.

She sighed and put her hands on her hips. "Don't give me that shit, Spock. I know something happened, and I don't know what, or who, or when it happened, but _something _happened, and I want to know what it is," she deadpanned, and Spock bristled.

"I have been to sickbay. I have endured Dr. McCoy's examination, and nothing is amiss. Therefore, to pursue this line of interrogation is illogical, for there is medically nothing wrong with me," he answered in a clipped tone, and placed his hands behind his back.

Nyota narrowed her eyes. "I know when you're being evasive, Spock. And even the captain knows something's up, though unlike him, I intend to get to the bottom of it."

Spock stiffened. "You will not be _getting to the bottom _of anything, Lieutenant. As I said, I have been medically cleared by Dr. McCoy. You are not my bondmate, and you are not my…as you say, _girlfriend_ any longer. Therefore, this line of questioning is highly inappropriate as I am your superior officer," Spock said heatedly as he came to tower over the woman who instantly shrank back from him in shocked disbelief.

He felt momentarily guilty for attempting to intimidate her, but there was nothing for it. He knew Nyota would try her hardest to _get to the bottom of it_.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Finally, Nyota broke the silence, her voice surprisingly gentle and calm; however, Spock didn't miss the hurt veiled in the tone. "I may not be your girlfriend anymore, Spock…but…I thought…I thought I was your friend."

Spock didn't say anything, for that was precisely the reason he would continue rebuffing her attempts to talk the truth out of him. He knew the qualifications of a friend, but, just like with Jim, he could not allow Nyota to find out the truth either. His desperate wish to talk to his _friends _did not matter in the face of the bigger picture.

The only logical solution was to push her away as well.

"Illogical. Vulcans do not have _friends_. We are merely colleagues, and as such I must remind you to keep your personal feelings out of our association with one another."

Another flash of hurt raced across her eyes, and she slowly shook her head. "I feel sorry you, Spock."

"Unless it affects your duties as the Chief Communications Officer aboard this ship, how you _feel_ about me is irrelevant," he replied flatly, and took a step backward if only to further shield the broken tricorder from view.

She laughed hollowly and averted her gaze to the side of the room before peering back up at him, her face remorseful and bitter at the same time. "That emotionless demeanor might work on everyone else, Spock. But it doesn't work with me, and—no, let me finish!" she ended in a shout.

Spock, whose mouth had been open, quickly shut it.

"I'll do as you ask, even though my gut instinct tells me not to, I'll leave you alone…but I know that underneath that hardened façade, there's a storm raging inside you, and I'll tell you this, if you don't do something about it, if you don't open up to someone, it _will_ come back and bite you in the ass. You may be Vulcan, Spock, but you're human too, and humans can't walk around with that much pain bottled up inside them. They'll go crazy. In fact, I'm not even sure Vulcans can do it either. Perhaps this is just you suffering from the after-effects of that planet. I know firsthand how draining that planet was, and I know it had to have affected you on some level, and if that's the case, then maybe it'll just take some time for you to get over it," she paused and narrowed her eyes at him. "But if it's _not _that…" she paused and stepped closer to him, her eyes imploring and soft, "just remember that I'm here, and believe it or not, so is the captain. I might doubt some of his decisions, but he cares about you Spock, I know he does…"

"Your words have been noted, Lieutenant," Spock spoke softly; almost in a whisper. He couldn't bear to listen to her speak about Jim, especially Jim _caring_ about him. It hurt too much, and it made his head hurt.

She gave him a long look, before sighing in defeat. She then turned and left.

Just like that, Spock was alone again, and he couldn't help but be saddened by that fact. Had he not just wished for solitude a moment ago?

Wanting desperately to get his mind off the conversation that had just transpired, Spock sat himself at his desk, and proceeded to put together his report. The sooner he completed it, the sooner he could meditate and get rid of his migraine, and his feelings of helplessness. Spock was 100% confident that after a successful meditation, he would be free of these emotions that constantly bombarded his mind. He was beyond sure that once he had achieved that relaxed, calm state, he would be able to finally leave Altriri IV, and leave Priest S'teth, and his shame, behind him.

**A.N So? I know some of you are probably going to berate me for how Jim is treating Spock right now, but you have to look at it from Jim's POV. He knows something has happened concerning what he hopes is his friend, but he has no idea what it is. Perhaps it really could be the Altririan influence, or perhaps something different? Jim doesn't know, and it frustrates him that Spock will not tell him because to Jim, it means Spock doesn't trust him with whatever he's hiding, and Jim would like to think that they are past that stage in their relationship. **

**Does he really think Spock believes himself to be above everyone else on the ship? No, he doesn't, and in a later chapter when I do Jim's POV I do touch on that. Jim is trying to push Spock's buttons, to get him to react with emotion, emotion that so far he has not been showing with Jim. To Kirk, Spock is being severely distant, and it bothers him. I also want people to remember that this is pre-STID kirk and Spock. They don't have the relationship that STID paints them having by the end of that movie. These are two guys who have feelings for one another, but don't really realize just what those feelings are, or how significant they are. They are still trying to figure the other out, still trying to learn what makes the other tick. Therefore, misunderstandings, to me, would be much easier to come about. **

**I hope you guys enjoyed this fast update! As well as the chapter itself! How am I doing with Spock's emotions? His avoidance of letting people in? I would really like your thoughts because this spock is starkly different than the one I paint in my other fic. **

**Oh, and before I forget, the name of this chapter comes from the Florence and Machine Song, "No Light, No Light" It's perfect for Spock's POV. **


	6. Say Something

**A.N. Hi everyone. I hadn't planned on updating today, because on Friday afternoon my grandmother passed away unexpectedly, so it's been a pretty hard and emotional weekend. The only reason I did decide to update was because at least by doing this, I can kind of get my mind off of things for a while. It's never easy to lose someone. My mom is taking it the hardest, so we've been hanging out all weekend. I've been trying to keep her busy and take her to do things that she enjoys. Thankfully most of this was edited before the weekend or I probably wouldn't have updated for lack of time and want since my emotions are all over the place at the moment. **

**I want to thank Coccinelle, and a BIG thank you to Cate Adams for helping me with these edits. This chapter has actually been broken up now because of how long it got. Cate, thank you again for giving me those suggestions that you did. Your advice, as always, is so appreciated.**

**The only warnings for this chapter are some implied non-con (mainly flashbacks) and a hard warning for angst. I want to thank all the lovely reviewers from the last chapter. You guys rock, and despite how sad I feel right now, thinking of you guys always makes me smile. **

**Enjoy! **

**Chapter Six**

**Say Something**

The entire journey back up to the bridge, Kirk could not get rid of the anger pooling in his system, nor could he rid himself of the worry he was feeling for Spock. Anger and worry seemed to be the only comprehensible emotions he was capable of at the moment, and he didn't know which one was worse, or which one should be the correct one to feel. He didn't _want_ to be angry with Spock, but he couldn't help it. Spock's avoidance of him on the planet had stung deeply. He also didn't want to be worried, because worry would mean that something _had _happened to his First Officer.

It hadn't helped matters when Kirk had walked into sickbay to check on Spock, only to find the Vulcan's shirt off, and a roadmap of pain on his torso. He had never seen a bruise on Spock in his life, and seeing that many of them, on _that_ body, had sent icy chills of the captain's back. To think that someone had done something to him had just set Kirk's emotions on fire. The way he had reacted to Bones when the doctor had tried to force him back down on the bio-bed hadn't done anything for his emotions either.

"_Do not touch me!" _Spock had hissed in a very un-Spock-like voice. What had happened to him to make him react that emotionally to Bones simply trying to sit him back down? Kirk knew that Vulcans didn't like to be touched, but even so, Spock had overreacted, and it was fucking disturbing. Almost as disturbing as the bruises on his pale, much-to-thin flesh.

Spock had told him that he'd fallen and acquired the bruises that way, but could Kirk really believe him? The Vulcan had just admitted to being affected by the Altririan's empathy; that they had compromised him during his one-month stay, but a month ago, Spock had said that they didn't affect him at all! It had become obvious to Kirk that he had lied about it so that Kirk would send him down there, and why? Why would Spock put his health, his mind, at risk like that? As far as Kirk knew, it wasn't a very logical thing for a Vulcan to do, but Spock had done it. What Kirk so desperately wanted an answer to was…had the Altririan's empathic influence caused his logical First Officer to become more susceptible to emotions, and emotional outbursts like the rest of them? Or had something worse happened?

There was also another theory circling in Kirk's brain as he finally neared the turbolift and stepped into it. It was a theory that he hoped to God wasn't true. Perhaps the other reason why Spock was acting so closed off and anti-social was because in the time he had spent down there on Altriri IV, Spock—the Vulcan he had been trying so hard to befriend—had finally realized that he; James T. Kirk; was not a logical choice for such a close relationship. Perhaps Spock had realized that he was not worth putting trust into. Kirk was so afraid that maybe in his month of solitude from everyone on the Enterprise, Spock had finally begun to realize just how incompetent his Captain was.

And was he wrong?

If that theory was correct, would it be so illogical for Spock to harbor those feelings and judgments? After all, it had been because of Kirk that the mission had not been completed as quickly as it should have been. It had been because of Kirk that Spock had had to stay down there on that planet to do it himself. Kirk had been unable to sway the planet into joining the Federation, therefore leaving it up to Spock to pick up the slack. And, since the Vulcan had just admitted to being affected by the Altririan empathic influence, Kirk could only imagine the pure hell he must have gone through staying on that planet. Kirk knew that if _he_ had been in Spock's shoes, he sure as shit would resent himself.

All of these thoughts, these theories, had made him afraid, and sadly, when Kirk was afraid of something, he had a bad habit of using anger to hide it. Anger was better than showing fear; the fear that Spock did not return the strong feelings that Kirk himself had developed for his logical First Officer. The fear that someone had willfully hurt his First Officer and that he had not been there to stop it from happening, and also the fear that Spock had spent a month in constant emotional pain because of Altririan empathy.

Whatever the case had been though, Kirk knew that Spock was still in pain. From what? He really couldn't discern, not with Spock being so tightlipped about it.

"Keptin on ze bridge," Chekov sounded from his station just as Kirk came barging onto the bridge. The anger, it seemed, was the emotion most visible at the moment. It effectively masked his worry and fear with its intensity.

Several of his bridge crew nodded in acknowledgement to him, but he didn't nod back. Instead he made a beeline for the chair that Sulu had just vacated, and all but spat, "Ship's status."

Instantly every face in the room turned to regard him warily before regarding one another. They had become used to Kirk acting slightly distant with them over the past month. They knew, despite him never admitting to it, that he had missed Spock. They knew that he had worried every day the Vulcan had been gone about him. However, they weren't used to this new anger he was exhibiting, especially since said Vulcan was back on the ship. They hadn't seen this kind of anger from Kirk since the day Spock had beamed down to the planet. They were probably wondering why he wasn't ecstatic right now. For one thing, Spock was back on board, and the mission had been a success. In their eyes, Kirk should be jumping for joy at the moment.

But they hadn't seen Spock down there on that planet. They hadn't seen him doing his best to avoid Kirk. They hadn't seen the bruises on the Vulcan's torso. They hadn't heard the words he had uttered in sickbay. They hadn't seen the dark circles under his eyes, or rib bones starting to poke through because he'd lost so much fucking weight. The only one up on the bridge that had _any_ kind of inclination that Spock was acting differently was Uhura, and even _she_ didn't know what Kirk did.

Kirk couldn't help but resent Spock a little bit for that; for making him feel this way. If he would just fucking _tell_ him what had happened, he could move onto the next step of helping Spock move past it.

It hurt that Spock, the one he'd started to invest his emotions into like a fucking idiot, obviously didn't trust him enough to tell him though. It hurt a lot.

"All readingz are normal, Keptin," Chekov responded almost warily.

Kirk inwardly cursed himself for bringing his anger onto the bridge with him. His crew hadn't done anything to deserve it. Sighing deeply, Kirk rubbed at his forehead tiredly. "Thank you, Mr. Chekov. Lay in a course for Starbase 16, and give me an ETA," he requested in a slightly softer voice.

"Aye, Keptin," Chekov responded and busied himself at his station. A few seconds later he said, "ETA in two weeks zan four dayz, Keptin."

"Thanks, Mr. Chekov."

"Captain?" Uhura asked him from her station, prompting Kirk to turn around and regard her. When he took in her expression, he could see the worry there that he himself was experiencing.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Request permission to leave the bridge," she asked confidently, her chin held high. It was a request she never made, but Kirk knew all too well why she was making it. She wanted to see Spock. The Vulcan hadn't been too receiving with her back in the transporter room, and it obviously hadn't sat well with her; much like it hadn't sat well with Kirk.

He gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment. There was a small part of him that wanted to deny her the request. What if she managed to get through to Spock when Kirk hadn't been able to? What did that mean about Spock's feelings toward him? There was a small part of him that didn't want that to happen. If Spock was going to confide in anybody, dammit he wanted it to be him! He wanted Spock to _want_ to talk to him, to be able to feel comfortable enough with him to tell him whatever he was hiding.

However, that was only a small part; perhaps a jealous part, and immediately Kirk felt ashamed. Why was he all the sudden jealous of Uhura's relationship with Spock? Why did he care if the Vulcan confided in her, and not him? Why did a part of him want that to fucking matter so much? It shouldn't matter, and it shamed him that it did.

"Captain…" she started when he didn't answer her.

"Permission granted," he cut her off, albeit a little stonily. Kirk might have wanted desperately to be the one Spock confided in, but if there was a chance that Uhura would be successful where he was not…he wasn't going to pass it up. If Uhura could help him, then already she was a better friend than he was, and Kirk wasn't going to deprive Spock of that chance simply because of some petty emotion like jealousy.

"Thank you, Captain."

Kirk didn't answer her. Instead, he circled back around in his chair and looked out into the vast expanse of space. Spock was back on the Enterprise now after one month of being half-way across the galaxy, but to Kirk he felt even further away now than he did back then.

Almost thirty minutes into his bridge shift, Bones came parading out of the turbolift causing every head to turn and regard him. Kirk could tell by the colorful language being used that yes, it was Bones.

Sighing, Kirk turned his chair around to regard the irate doctor whose eyes were narrowed at him.

"Bones, don't you have a sickbay to run?" Kirk asked him thinly. There was no doubt that the doctor was still mad at him for losing his shit back there in sickbay, but he still couldn't bring himself to apologize for it, or act sorry about it.

"I need to talk with you, Jim," Bones bit out, his tone serious.

"In case you didn't notice, I'm kind of in the middle of captaining right now, so if you don't mi…"

"_Now, _Jim," Bones reiterated darkly, making the other people on the bridge exchange wary glances. Kirk inwardly groaned. That was the last thing he needed was rumors starting because Bones decided to make a scene on the bridge.

"Fine, Bones. Five minutes," Kirk answered and gave the conn to Sulu once again. He then followed Bones into the turbolift so they could have some privacy. "What's all this about?" he asked stupidly.

Bones gaped at him. "About? Don't play stupid with me, kid. You know exactly what this is about."

"Do I?" Kirk asked sourly, making Bones scowl in anger.

"Dammit, Jim! I don't know what caused you to treat Spock that way back there, but it was uncalled for!"

Kirk flinched at the inflection in the man's tone. It was rare that Bones got this protective over Spock. And to be honest, Kirk felt a little bit guilty that it wasn't _him _acting like this right now. The two couldn't stand to be around one another after all.

"I said exactly what needed to be said, Bones. You saw the way he acted back there. You know as well I do that he's lying about something. He's my First Officer; he shouldn't be lying to me!" Kirk retorted angrily.

Bones sighed in irritation. "Yes, Jim. I do think he's hiding something, but getting angry at him, and yelling, and showing your ass isn't going to do you any favors! Hell, it might encourage him not to say anything at all! Did your brilliant mind ever stop and think about that?"

For a moment, Kirk was speechless as dread engulfed him. He hadn't thought about that. What if by getting as angry as he did, Spock closed up even more? Dammit! He should have thought about that!

"Yeah," Bones started in dark satisfaction. "I didn't think you did. I understand your frustration, Jim. And believe me, I want to get to the bottom of it just like you do…whatever _it_ is, but that's not the way to go about it."

"Then how am I supposed to go about it, Bones? You saw how he acted, you…you _heard_ what he said in there! What he thinks about me, and the crew," Kirk argued, his mind replaying Spock's last words in his mind. It had definitely been hard, hearing those things.

"And you believe that's how he really feels?" Bones immediately countered, his voice level rising to match Kirk's.

Kirk glanced at the wall in doubt. "Honestly Bones? I don't know," he started in a near whisper before turning his desperate stare back on the doctor. "I really don't fucking know what to believe anymore. I would like to think that I know Spock; that I've grown to really know him over the past year, and that maybe, just maybe, he's even grown to know me. But then today, I suddenly feel like I don't know him at all, and…" Kirk's voice faltered. Admitting what he was about to admit was hard because he hoped beyond everything that it wasn't true. "And today…I felt like maybe I really never knew him, and even worse, that he never really wanted to know me in the first place."

Bones leveled his eyes at him. "I know you don't believe that, Jim. Spock values his relationship with you, sometimes even to a degree I'm not sure I'm comfortable with," he laughed a bit uneasily, but the humor died with him, for Kirk did not feel like laughing.

"That's what I used to think, Bones. I used to think that everyday spent on this ship was just one step closer to that epic friendship the older Spock told me about, but to see him close up like that, and to _know_ that he doesn't trust me enough to tell me the truth, whatever it is…it hurts. It hurts a lot."

Bones looked down at the floor and then up at him, this time his expression imploring. "I know you don't want to hear Spock say those things, kid. But you have to remember that Spock's just been on that fucking vampire planet for a month, and from what he _has_ told us, it obviously affected him negatively. Hell, I can see from my tests that he's had a brutal thirty days. Why? I can't honestly tell you because I don't know. I find it hard to believe that Altririan empathy could put bruises like that on Spock. Perhaps the weight loss and fatigue can be explained away with that. It's not uncommon what when people are depressed, they tend to lose their appetites, but depression doesn't leave bruises."

"I know," Kirk started in a detached voice before narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Do you really believe he fell?" he asked timidly, wanting desperately to know the doctor's opinion on it. Honestly, those bruises had not left his mind since he'd seen them.

Bones sighed and shifted his feet. "I don't know, Jim. I want to believe him, because to believe anything else just makes my skin crawl, but as of right now? I have no choice but to believe him," his friend stated tiredly, and Kirk could tell it bothered him say such a thing. "Until he tells me otherwise, that's the story I have to go with. All I can do is watch him closely over these next few weeks, and see if he declines in health. If I can prove that his health is declining and not improving, I can render him unfit for duty, and force him to see therapist. Or, in his case, a Vulcan Healer."

Kirk swallowed. "If you render him unfit for duty, it will go on his record, Bones. I don't want to do that to Spock," he admitted truthfully, and it was true. If he could avoid that situation, he would. He didn't want something like that going on the Vulcan's record. He already had one black mark from strangling Kirk on the bridge that one time, and he sure as shit didn't need another one.

Bones narrowed his eyes. "I know what it will do. I'm not stupid. But if he leaves me no choice, then he leaves me no choice," he replied in a slightly remorseful tone. It was obvious that even he didn't want to see Spock get another stain on his record either. That didn't keep Kirk from getting irritated with him though.

"I want you to tell me before you do something like that," Kirk snapped uncharacteristically, and instantly, Bones narrowed his eyes in anger.

"That's rich coming from you, Jim!" he started, eyes blazing. "Which brings me to the real reason I came up here in the first place! I said down on that planet that Spock needed a good meal, and some sleep. He's beyond tired, even if he won't admit it, and it makes me nauseas knowing I've got a crewmember walking around that's that severely underweight," and here, Bones stepped closer to Kirk who found himself stepping backward as a result of the pure intimidation radiating from his friend. The doctor was fuming. "He's earned a damned bit of rest, Jim, and here you are forcing him to complete a thirty-day report in an obscenely short amount of time, and all because you got your _feelings_ hurt," Bones spat sarcastically, his arms going to his hips. "You don't need that report by 7pm tonight, and you know it. You're just being an asshole, and on any other day I wouldn't have a problem with it, but when it affects my patient's treatment plan, it becomes my problem."

Kirk stared at him, his confidence coming back in a massive wave. "He's _finishing_ that report, Dr. McCoy. Everything else comes second, as I've already said," Kirk answered icily. He knew Spock needed sleep, God did he know it, but he had a very good reason for wanting that report done.

Bones narrowed his eyes even further at being referred to by his rank, and his cheeks turned beat red. "I'm the Chief Medical Officer on this ship, _Captain_. Therefore, my orders regarding a patient supersede yours. Now, are you going to tell him not to worry about that report, or am I?" the doctor hissed, just daring Kirk to argue. But that was just what Kirk did, albeit in a much softer, and more desperate tone. Perhaps once Bones understood why he needed that report done so quickly, he would reconsider.

"I need him to do that report, Bones. And the reason why is—dammit, let me finish!" he shouted just as Bones opened his mouth to argue. Due to the sincerity in Kirk's voice, the doctor kept his silence, even if his lip twitched with the urge to say something.

"The _reason_ I want that report done as quickly as possible, is because the quicker Spock has to do it, the less time he has to lie about what happened. If I make him do that report now, then it just lessens the chance of him putting in a convincing fabrication as opposed to what really happened down there."

Finally, Bones' expression faltered. He might not be totally convinced, but Kirk could tell he was on his way there.

"If…if I let him wait, then I'm taking a chance of him finding a plausible cover story for whatever it is he doesn't want us to know. I know there's a chance he's not hiding anything at all, but if there is, I want to make sure I do everything I can to get the truth out of him. If he refuses to talk to me, then maybe I can find something in that report, something that he will have missed or forgot to change because, as you said, he's beyond tired. People make mistakes when they're tired, Bones. Even Vulcans though they would never admit it. If I can catch the truth because of one of those mistakes, then I'm doing it," Kirk finally finished firmly. He hoped that now, _now_ Bones saw the reason why Kirk wanted that report done. If Spock _was_ lying about something that happened down there, it would be harder for him to come up with a believable story if he were forced to complete the report immediately than if he had a day or days to think about it.

"I see what you're sayin' Jim, but I still don't like it. I don't like putting Spock's health second to this," Bones replied, but this time it was more sullen, like he had already resigned himself to Kirk's plan.

"I don't like it either, Bones. Believe me, I value Spock's safety above my own, but as far as I'm concerned, finding out the truth is directly related to that safety. If he's lying about what happened down there, and I have a chance to catch it, I'm going to do it," he paused and said in a much quieter voice, "I have to."

For a long moment, Bones didn't say anything. He merely stared at Kirk, his expression thoughtful and calculating. Kirk knew he was trying to decide what he should do. Kirk hated putting his friend in this position. He hated his friend, a doctor, to have to put a patient's health on hold for some greater reason, but it couldn't be helped.

"After he finishes the report, give him as much time as you think he needs to recuperate," Kirk added seriously.

Bones held his head in his hands for a long while before glaring back up at Kirk. "Fine, Jim. Once again, I'm listening to you when I know I shouldn't be. For his sake, I hope you find what you're looking for."

Three and half hours later, Kirk left the bridge early and headed back to his quarters. Usually, he went to the gym after his shift on the bridge ended, and then went to the mess hall to have dinner with…

Kirk stopped himself from completing that thought. He _used_ to have dinner with Spock in the mess hall, but he couldn't bring himself to ask the Vulcan to dinner now. For one thing, Spock would probably turn him down, and for another thing, he didn't think he could stand sitting across from him, _knowing _that there was something he wasn't telling him. Plus, Kirk was expecting Spock's Official Report in—he peered at his chronometer on the wall just as he sat down heavily at his desk—half an hour.

Perhaps, now that they had both had a chance to cool off, Kirk could try to goad the truth out of him again. He knew it would be hard, but maybe Kirk would tell Spock just what their friendship meant to him. How much he valued having Spock in his life. Perhaps if Spock _knew_ that Kirk held him in such high regard, he would not be as hesitant in confiding in him. Perhaps if Spock knew that whatever he had to say, whatever secret he was harboring would not make Kirk hate him, or become mad at him, then the Vulcan would open up to him.

Kirk couldn't help but feel nervous as he sat there behind his desk, a stack of PADD's in front of him. He had never told Spock how deeply he felt for him; how much he meant to him. But there was a small part of him that thought that maybe if Spock heard those things, then he would not ashamed or afraid to talk to him. Perhaps Kirk would finally hear Spock tell him that they were friends as well. That he valued Kirk just as much.

But then…perhaps he didn't feel that way.

Nevertheless, Kirk would soon know in half an hour one way or the other.

Apparently it wouldn't be half an hour though, because the Vulcan in question chimed at his door three seconds later.

"Spock here, Captain. I have the report you requested," Spock's voice flowed into the room, and with it a whole new bout of anxiety. Kirk's head whipped up and focused on the door. Suddenly, he wasn't sure if he was ready to do this, if he was ready to admit the things he'd just agreed to admit. What if Spock shot him down?

For a long moment, Kirk didn't answer as he pondered the possibility of rejection. However, he knew sooner or later he'd have to face Spock again. It was better to get it over with.

"Come in," he said in monotone after just realizing that Spock had decided to use _that_ door as opposed to just coming through the shared bathroom like he usually had done in the past. Kirk wasn't sure what to think of that. All he knew was that it hurt.

((oOo))

The report had been due in four hours. Spock had completed it in three hours and twenty-two minutes. This disturbed him, for he should have been able to complete it in three hours at the least, and not a minute more. His ability to concentrate and focus on something as simple as completing a routine report, it seemed, had become more difficult as a result of the past month. It was just another issue to add to the growing list of problems ailing him as of late.

The PADD containing the completed report in hand, Spock walked to the voice panel on the wall and activated it. "Computer, locate Captain Kirk," he spoke softly, and watched as the computer spared a brief moment to complete the request until finally, a series of words appeared on the screen:

_**Location of Captain Kirk, James T; personal quarters.**_

Spock immediately felt a wave of anxiety ripple through him. He had hoped that the Captain would possibly be on the bridge, or perhaps the mess hall. Both of those places would be a public place, and he would not have to face Jim alone. He would be able to simply walk up to him, hand him the PADD with his Official Report, and then escape back to his quarters and attempt to meditate. The last thing he wanted to do was approach Jim in his personal quarters. Not while he was so unshielded, and would likely feel every violent emotion felt by his Captain. He already hated himself enough to last a lifetime. He did not want to feel another's hate for him as well. Especially from an individual whose opinion could either make or break his day.

These were the reasons Spock told himself he was anxious; because to blame it on another reason, a reason pertaining to being afraid of being alone in another man's quarters was completely illogical and unfounded. Especially where Jim Kirk was concerned.

At least after the fact, he could escape back to the solitude of his own quarters for as long as he saw fit. Dr. McCoy had given him a week off of duty according to the ship's roster, which had been re-posted an hour ago to reflect the changes. The doctor had also sent him a personal message over his PADD stating that if he did not see improvement with Spock, that he would extend that length of time. Spock desperately hoped that he _did_ show improvement, because he knew that A: if he didn't, Dr. McCoy could deem him medically unfit for duty, and it would go on his permanent record; and B: if he did not improve, everyone would just grow more suspicious of him.

While before Spock might have protested the forced vacation, he found that at this point in time, a week of rest might not be the worst idea. At least he could sort through his chaotic emotions in solitude, and without the added weight of completing his duties as First Officer, and Chief Science Officer.

For a moment, Spock was at a loss as to how to deliver his report. A month ago, Spock would have simply made the journey to Jim's room through their conjoined bathroom facilities. It was far simpler, and, as Jim had said, _'not so formal'. _It would be how friends would visit one another, and not just Starfleet officers who merely worked together. However, as Spock was not sure where their relationship stood after the incident in sickbay, he felt it best to fall back on formalities in this instance, and utilize the door in the corridor.

Pulling his shirt down one more time, Spock tucked the PADD underneath his arm and walked out of his quarters and to the one next to his. He stood there staring at the red door for two minutes and thirty-three seconds, which garnered a few bemused glances from the passing crewmen who probably found it odd that their commanding officer was standing and staring at a door and not doing anything.

Finally, after taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and hit the door panel. "Spock here, Captain. I have completed the report you requested."

A few seconds went by in complete silence, and Spock wondered if Jim had even heard him. Just before he raised his hand to the door panel again, the Captain's voice sounded through.

"Come in," Jim replied in monotone, which was such a stark difference from previous invitations issued by the human. They had usually been laden with jubilance, or eagerness at the prospect of Spock visiting him in his personal quarters. At the moment though, all of those warm emotions were absent from Jim's cadence. Perhaps permanently.

When the door slid open, Spock walked inside, his hands still clasped behind his back, and the PADD still under his arm. Jim was sitting at his desk, a stack of PADDs strewn across it, one of them currently being utilized by the Captain himself.

"I have your report, Captain," Spock repeated when Jim did not look up in acknowledgement as he waited to be invited to sit down. That had always been the custom in these situations. However, after fifteen seconds of continued silence, and no invitation, Spock decided to speak again.

"Captain…"

Jim sighed tiredly. "I heard you the first time, Commander. Just put it on my desk. Thanks," he cut him off with a hint of bitterness in his voice that absolutely _did not_ sting. Not to mention the fact that Jim _still _had not looked up at him.

_And should he look at you? Do you really deserve that kind of respect?_ he chastised himself as his unshielded mind began picking up the emotions that lingered in the room. Jim was nervous, but there was also a hint of regret and hurt there. Spock wasn't sure what to think about that. Was he regretful of Spock being here? Hurt by him being here? He didn't know, and he was afraid to ask. For what seemed like the hundredth time in the past month, Spock cursed his emotionalism.

To get his mind off of it, the Vulcan let his eyes wander briefly to the chess set lingering on the table off to the side of the room. There had once been a time where he and Jim had sat at that table, and played with that chess set. Such times seemed so far and away from Spock right now; almost like they had happened in another life. It was strange to him, that he could never imagine himself playing with Jim at that table again.

Stomping out the emotional turn his thoughts had taken, Spock fluidly walked the distance over to the Captain's desk, and sat the PADD down gently on top of the others so as not to disturb their resting positions. Jim stiffened slightly in his seat at the sudden close proximity but still did not look up at him, despite Spock practically boring a hole into the human's head with his stare.

It was not until Spock turned back around, and walked all the way over to the door to leave when Jim finally spoke. "Spock, wait a sec," he asked hesitantly, his nervousness becoming palpable.

Spock froze at the door.

"I know we had a rocky beginning, Spock. Believe me, I do," Jim went on.

Spock kept his face trained on the door in front of him as Jim continued speaking.

"But…I thought we had moved past all that. I thought we were friends," his voice sounded so meek and mild compared to what Spock had grown accustomed to hearing from the confident captain, or even the angry one he had seen earlier. As a result, Spock couldn't resist turning back around to regard the one who held that tone.

Instead of peering down at the PADD on his desk, Jim was now looking right at him, a strange wanting in his blue eyes that Spock could not identify, but gave him a start nonetheless. The High Priest had gazed at Spock wantfully as well, but it had been so vastly different than the expression on Jim's face at the moment. He did not fear that gaze, not like he had feared the other.

"In fact, after all the time we've spent together on the Enterprise; all the missions we've completed side by side, I've even come to consider you my _best_ friend, Spock," Jim started dramatically, his gaze imploring. "But…how can I call you my best friend when you can't even talk to me?" he went on, his tone becoming doubtful. "That you can't…" he let his eyes trail across his desk in irritation. "…can't even confide in me?" Finally, Jim brought his eyes back up to meet Spock's, and there was an even more intense expression of longing there that almost made Spock's knees buckle with its desperation.

As quickly as possible, Spock analyzed the term he had just been given. The word '_best' _was defined as something being to the highest standard. So, if Jim were using it as a prefix to the word '_friend'_, did it not stand to reason that Jim's relationship with him was greater than all the rest of the captain's relationships? If that _was_ what Jim had meant, then would it not be logical to conclude that as far as the term _friendship _went, Jim valued Spock's the most?

Such a revelation was…shocking to the Vulcan, and he did not know quite how to respond to it. He would have assumed that the doctor would have met that qualification before him. They seemed to get along quite amicably and much better than he and Jim ever had done on every occasion prior, or so he had thought. Dr. McCoy seemed to _understand_ Jim so well, so it was only logical to assume that _he; _not Spock; was Jim's best friend if there was anyone deserving of such a title. Dr. McCoy was human also, while Spock was not. Surely Jim got along better with one of his own species than with someone completely outside of it.

However, in retrospect, Spock and Jim had definitely had numerous pivotal moments in their growing relationship; moments that the Vulcan had never experienced with any other being. In fact, now that the term, '_best friend' _had been added and stored into his brain, was that not how Spock would define Jim's friendship to himself? Did he not value Jim's relationship to him above all others? Would he not consider the captain his…_best _friend as well?

_Of course I would, but that life is not mine anymore. _

"Spock," Jim voiced in a pleading tone as he made to get up from the desk, and walked around it until he was standing a mere couple of feet in front of the Vulcan. "If you were ever capable of regarding me in the same light that I regard you in; if you _ever _thought of me as a friend…you would _tell_ me what's bothering you," he explained softly. "You would confide in me, and do you know why?" Jim probed knowingly, and tilted his head as he stepped just a bit closer, his scent invading the Vulcan's senses.

Spock felt his head throb in pain as a rainstorm of emotions swelled up within him; both his own and the captain's, which were…a potent mix. However, he masked his pain in light of the conversation now taking place.

"Why, Jim?" he asked quietly, almost in a whisper, and resisted the urge to wince as the throbbing continued to assault him. He did not even notice that it was the first time he had used Jim's name since he'd been back aboard the Enterprise. However, if the brief warm expression on the captain's face was anything to go by, he _had_ noticed it.

Jim bit his lip before replying. "Because, it would mean you trusted me. That's what best friends do, Spock. They trust each other…with anything. I trust you, Spock. More than I've ever trusted anyone, and it hurts to think that you don't return that trust."

_I do trust you, Jim…with everything and anything, but I cannot tell you this. I cannot share this secret with you. It is my burden to bear, _Spock wanted to say. Oh, how he wanted to say it, and it was because of that urge that Spock had to put a stop to this conversation, before it coaxed him to say what he wanted so desperately to admit.

"Captain—,"

Jim frowned at being referred to by his rank again and visibly stiffened. Spock inwardly winced when the captain took a step backward, away from him.

"This conversation is illogical, as I have already informed you of all the relevant facts, and any that you are not privy to have all been depicted in my Official Report which is there lying on your desk." Spock let his eyes glare at Jim's desk, as if to reiterate where the PADD was. He also did so because it had gotten unbearably difficult to continue looking into the blue eyes across from him. It was illogically difficult to force himself to reestablish eye contact. "There is no _secret_ to share, and Vulcans do not…_confide,_" his voice sounded so…alien to him; even more alien than the disgusting words he had been forced to utter back on Altriri IV at S'teth's request.

"_Tell me that you want me, Spock. Tell me that you desire me"_

"…"

"_You __**will**__speak when spoken to, or perhaps your mind is not as important to you as you think it is…"_

"…_I desire you…"_

"_You can do better than that, tell me you want it harder…tell me to fuck you harder…Come on, prized Vulcan, tell S'teth you want him to fuck you until you bleed."_

"_I want it…harder." _

"_Make me believe it, damn you! Quit speaking like a computer! Or I will make you hurt again!" _

"_Please…harder…fuck me harder…harder…harder…make me bleed…"_

Spock blinked at the memory, willing it to go away. He did not want to think about such things in the presence of his captain. He didn't want to think about such things ever again, yet for some reason, his mind continued to ignore him in that most desperate wish.

Jim sighed in irritation and folded his arms across his chest; Spock's inner turmoil at reliving such a traumatic situation going unnoticed. He could tell that the human wasn't going to let it go. Clearly, Jim wasn't going to back down that easily. Spock had not expected him to though either.

"Spock," he started with a shake of his head. "I don't know why you're doing this, or _why_ you are acting like this," he paused and rubbed his face with his hands. "And for the life of me, I don't understand why you are trying to push me away…" Jim looked to the left at the chess set, and ran a hand through his blond hair; a clear sign of a growing frustration. Spock knew from experience that humans seemed to busy their hands when they were nervous, or angry, or irritated. "But if you're afraid that for some reason I'll think less of you for not being Vulcan enough, or hell, not being _human_ enough? Then you have nothing—_nothing—_to fear!" Jim shouted, and quickly brought his eyes back around to Spock. "And anyone who could ever think that really doesn't know you, not like I do!" he stepped closer, his gaze imploring. "I could _never_ think those idiotic things about you. That's the other thing about best friends, how much they care. A person who cares about you as much as I do, does so because they lov—," Jim stopped abruptly, his face going pale as he shook his head minutely. Spock was not entirely sure what the cause for that reaction was, and he was not about to ask. "…because they _accept_ everything about you, even if you don't. They treasure those aspects, even your faults and shortcomings, because they make you who you are. They're there to stand by you, through anything. And…" Jim stepped even closer to Spock, almost nose to nose. The Vulcan would have backed up, but the door was right behind him, blocking his path of escape. "They're there when you fall down to pick you back up again, even if you think you don't need it. Even if you think it was your fault," he paused as if to consider something, "and even if something _was_ somehow your fault, a best friend still stands by you."

Spock felt a lump form in his throat as emotions he never knew he possessed flew to the surface. How could it be that this human in front of him was the only one capable of breaking past all of his barriers? How was it, that Jim was so utterly capable of making him want to open all of the doors in his tainted mind, if only so the man in front of him could stroll through them, explore them, heal them with his mental touch, and perhaps share a space within them? How was it that, through the words he'd just heard, Spock actually felt that maybe…just maybe, Jim might still want to be his friend after learning the truth? That with Jim beside him and in the know, perhaps he would know what to do. He would know how to move forward, and how to help Spock pick up the broken pieces of what he used to be.

In that moment, Spock was so close to disregarding Admiral Marcus' orders for secrecy; of disregarding his shame and self-loathing, and baring his soul, his _katra_. Jim had just told him that as his best friend, he would be willing to accept Spock's faults and shortcomings.

If he were speaking the truth then maybe it would not be so harmful to…

_No Spock! _a stern voice sounded from deep within him, instantly quelling the response he had been about to give; the revelation he had been about to bestow. _Even if he does accept what you have done, even if he does accept how disgusting you really are, and the shame you carry…if he finds out what has transpired between you and the High Priest, and does not report it as he would be legally bound to do, then not only will you be Court Martialed if the truth is discovered, but so will he; and it will all have been for nothing. _

_For nothing…_

Spock inhaled deeply in an attempt to muster up the courage for what he was about to say to the man who had just called him his best friend, who had just admitted to caring deeply for him; because there was no doubt about it, his next words would put a halt to any sort of _friendship_ he and Jim shared.

But…

It was necessary.

Spock's yearning for Jim, for the kind of relationship he had just described, was not worth Jim's career. It was not worth it for Jim to spend a multitude of years in some cell on some distant penal colony. And if he didn't end up on some penal colony, it wasn't worth it to have Jim spend the rest of his years on Earth, looking up at the sky and wondering just who was captaining _his_ ship because Spock had been so selfish as to unload his problems on him.

Jim had not said it in his definition of the term _best friend_, but there was something else that came along with being one, and Spock did not have to be a full human to understand what it was. In Jim's plight to entice Spock to reveal the truth to him, he had failed to mention that a best friend would _also_ sacrifice their own happiness for the other if it meant saving them. A friend might not, but a _best_ friend would gladly give such a valuable relationship away if it was what was best for the other. If it meant keeping them from harm, a best friend would do…_would say…_anything.

And if for some reason Spock was in error, and a best friend _wouldn't _make that kind of sacrifice, he found he didn't care. He would still do it regardless of what the proper parameters were.

"Captain, I am Vulcan. I do not require friendship from you, and I do not wish it, either. I do not require your acceptance, because it has no bearing on our professional relationship with one another. You suffer from some false implication that I have a need to surround myself with what you call, _friends_. I do not. You are in error. Furthermore, I have no faults. I have no shortcomings that I feel an emotional need to share with you. I have no need of being _picked up _because I have not _fallen down_ as you seem to think I have and have inferred in your argument. You are my Captain, and I am your First Officer. That is the extent of any relationship you assume that we share. I do apologize for leading you into the false assumption that we share anything more than that. It was and is a great oversight on my part; an indulgence into the illogical if you will, and I have shamed my people and my culture because of that indulgence. Now, I have delivered my Official Report as requested; therefore, I ask permission to be dismissed. There are other affairs that require my attention that do not involve humoring your human need to entice me into an emotionally based association when, as the superior officers on this ship, we have an example to set."

There. Spock had said it, and there was no coming back from it. He had sealed his fate, and saved another's simultaneously. However, to Spock, he felt like he had just sold his soul.

For a long moment, Jim didn't say anything in response, but then again…he didn't have to. His face had said enough. The whole time Spock had been talking, Jim's face had shifted further and further into something barren, and devoid of all emotion. It was like looking into a cold wasteland. For Spock, such a look was common and expected, and only meant he had been successful in controlling his emotions so they did not control him. It was not a cause for worry, and among Vulcans, it would be a cause for silent praise.

For Jim however, that expression meant that what Spock had said had had a grave effect on the human, and he knew that underneath the placid, blank look currently being exhibited on his angelic features; Jim was hurting. Spock could feel that hurt as it tore through his mental landscape. By lying as he had, Spock had hurt him with his words, and that thought alone made him want to reach out, grab the human, and pull him closer if only to reassure him that he hadn't meant a word. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt Jim, but again, it had been necessary. It had been necessary to keep him from the truth. To protect his fate.

And what was necessary was logical.

"So…" Jim finally breathed out after a lengthy, awkward silence that had been chocked full with screaming emotions. "That's how you feel then. I mean, that's _really _how you feel," Jim furthered, his voice cracking in a disturbing way.

Spock's head throbbed in pain again, which was fortunate because it permitted him to exhibit a slight expression of irritation that would make his response all the more convincing in its coldness. Even though his irritation was directed toward his migraine, the captain would assume it had been directed at him.

A month ago, Spock would never have placed much stock in his acting abilities. Now though, he wondered if he couldn't make anyone believe anything. "Captain, again, I do not _feel…"_ Spock began to blurt out sternly, but Jim waved him roughly into silence.

"You're dismissed, Commander." Jim's tone was cold, and unfeeling, and Spock tried hard not to let it affect him. He told himself that he deserved every ounce of disdain the captain could give to him. If he had been a better First Officer, he wouldn't even be in such a situation. If he had been able to do the job his captain had entrusted him with, he would not have had to; as that healer had told him back on Altriri IV, _spread his legs to gain diplomatic influence. _

Spock didn't bother with a response as he turned to leave again. It wasn't that he didn't want to respond, but more so, that he couldn't.

However, just as the door opened and permitted him entrance to the corridor, Jim halted him again. "Wait, take this. I don't need it anymore," he stated bitterly and almost angrily. Spock heard feet moving to the far side of the room, and the Vulcan turned to see Jim making his way toward the table with the chess set on it. _Their _chess-set. The one that Spock, as well as Jim, had been eyeing wistfully moments ago. _An eternity ago. _

Angrily, Jim swiped all the tiny pieces into the small bag that accompanied the board, and cinched it shut bitterly. He then thrust it through the air at Spock, who caught it out of reflex.

"Captain, I do not require your chess bo—," Spock started desperately, and inside he was panicking. Their friendship might be over, but he had hoped that perhaps Jim would keep that board, and its pieces, if only to remember what they had shared together before it all came crashing down. If only to remind him that—through that board—Spock had shared things he had never shared with anyone, and in turn, so had the captain with him. They had…begun to trust each other through that board.

That board had been the cornerstone of their relationship. It had helped bridge the gap between them purely through the many conversations they held whilst engaged in a match after dinner, during a break, or during shore leave. It had been so easy for Spock to share personal aspects about himself in the logical pursuit of game play, versus just speaking to speak. It had been as if Jim had _known_ that the only way to get him to talk, to really _share_ himself without feeling as if it were a frivolous pursuit, had been by way of that board.

The board Jim was now attempting to discard.

"Then throw it in the fucking trash! Because I obviously don't need it!" Jim abruptly shouted, closed the distance between them, and thrust the board and its 3D pieces into Spock's trembling hands. His anger was pooling off of him like rain, and Spock resisted the whimper trying to escape him from the sting it caused in his head. Or was it a whimper purely caused by his own emotions battering at him?

"You don't want to be my friend?! That's fucking fine with me! From here on out, it's all professional, understand? I'm your Captain, and you're my First Officer as you've so _logically_ pointed out. That's it. That's where it ends. All the fucking time I've wasted sitting at that table, playing that fucking game with you, and why, Spock? So you could stand there and tell me that it doesn't mean anything? That—that it _didn't _mean anything? That you've never felt _anything_ in all our time together?"

Spock took a few steps backward out of instinct as the human came to tower over him, his rage increasing by the second. Spock wondered if they were attracting the attention of crewmembers in the hallway, since the door was still open. If they were, Jim didn't care, and at that moment, neither did Spock.

When he didn't respond, Jim sighed and laughed hollowly; the chess board currently in Spock's grasp felt illogically heavier with every bitter cackle.

"Well you know what, Spock?" he started with a glare, the laughter dying on his lips only to be replaced by a hardened, cold expression. "_Fuck you," _he hissed darkly before adding,_ "_Did your Vulcan heart feel that?"

Suddenly Spock wished for the solitude of his room so that he could shed the illogical tears his body—his _katra—_wished to shed. He had cried on that planet from the pain, as it had overwhelmed him physically and mentally with each painful thrust; with each forceful invasion of his mind. At that moment, as he turned and used every ounce of willpower _not_ to run from the room, he also wanted to cry for the pain he felt now…the pain of losing the most important person in his life a second time. His mother had been the first.

And just like with Amanda, it had all been his fault, only this time he was unable to control the emotional aftermath.

((oOo))

If Spock had been paying attention in his hasty exit, he would have seen Dr. McCoy standing there in the hallway, having heard the entire bitter end to the conversation. He would have seen the look of fury flit across the doctor's face as he marched in through the open door, right into Jim's quarters.

McCoy wasted no time sliding the door shut behind him, and rounding on the object of his fury. James Kirk.

"Just what the fuck was that, Jim?" McCoy yelled just as Jim walked right around his desk and collapsed down in the chair, his head in his hands effectively blocking off his expression to the doctor.

"What did it look like, Bones?" Jim answered shakily, almost as if he was about to cry. McCoy faltered for a second. He _rarely _heard Jim's voice sound like that, and it was almost enough to make him forget his anger, but then the memory of Spock, all thin and gaunt-looking, almost running out Jim's corridors and parading back into his own made him lose any sympathy he might have had.

"It _looked _like you went off on Spock again when I told you not too! That's what it looked like! Dammit, Jim!" McCoy yelled as he came marching up to the desk and threw his hands down onto it. That got Jim's attention, because he immediately peered up at him. His eyes were red-rimmed and moist, but McCoy didn't see any tears. Not that that would save the asshole in front of him anyway.

"You didn't hear him, Bones. The things he said? He was so…so _sincere_ about it…" Jim let his voice trail off as his eyes stared at a table off to the right side of the room.

"Spock is sick, Jim. I told you that he's not himself, and fuck it all if you didn't just go run your goddamn mouth _again_ when I told you not to! Did you even see the look on his face when he came barreling out of your quarters like someone had lit a fire up under his ass?"

In front of him, Jim inhaled sharply and narrowed his eyes. He then shot up from the chair and looked straight at McCoy, a certain hostility in his expression. "You're seeing what you want to see, Bones," he declared darkly. "Spock just told me exactly what he thinks of me. He's just told me that we're not friends, and that we never were, and that I should stop pestering him for some _human_ relationship that he's obviously not capable of having. I don't care how sick you are, you don't say those things unless there's some truth behind it. He doesn't care about me, and he probably never did. He wants to keep it professional? Fine. I'm done trying to hold his fucking hand. I'm done looking fucking stupid for thinking that something is hurting him inside, when this entire time, he's probably just acting like the Vulcan he is; emotionless. He probably went down to that goddamn planet, and realized how illogical he's been, pretending to be my friend."

"Jim, you know that's not true," McCoy cut in hastily, because honestly, hearing the kid talk like this was downright disturbing. Jim had also obviously been a lot more infatuated with Spock than McCoy had previously believed, and that wasn't a good thing in his eyes.

"Why would it not be true, Bones?" Kirk questioned bitterly, his head canted. "Don't you remember how we used to be a year ago? How much we hated one another? Perhaps that hate never went away. Perhaps it has always been right there, between us, muted by what some old fucking Vulcan had coined as our goddamned fated destiny."

"Jim…"

"And it took Spock being away a month to finally realize what utter bullshit it really is!" Jim cut him off, lost in his own storm of emotions. "It's like a drug in a way," he stated with a hollow chuckle that made McCoy's insides curl. It was a stark contrast from the fury the man had just been radiating. "I've been like a drug to him, a bad influence that slowly degrades you," Jim started, his eyes staring at some non-existent object on the wall. "Being on Altriri IV was like rehab, really. He weaned himself off of my influence. He finally saw how illogical placating my friendship was. And now? Now he's just acting like the logical Vulcan he's probably always been," his friend finished bitterly, and finally focused his eyes in on the doctor again.

McCoy stared at Jim, unwilling to believe that such an analogy had just left his friend's mouth. Why? Why would Jim believe Spock could feel like that? McCoy had lived on the same ship as that _logical_ Vulcan for the past year now, and if there was anything he was sure of, it had been the fact that every time Jim had walked into the room, a certain expression would paint itself on Spock's face. An expression of someone utterly smitten. Sure it wasn't the besotted look a human would show in the same situation, but it was there. And that wasn't the only time McCoy had gotten suspicious of the Vulcan's feelings.

Every time Jim had gotten himself injured on an away mission, the Vulcan had never left his side, even after McCoy had assured the lingering Vulcan who had darkened his sickbay like a vampire that Jim was going to be fine. The Vulcan had always come up with some logical excuse as to why he needed to stay there; and stay he had, as long as his duty had permitted it. Instead of a smitten expression in those situations, the Vulcan had garnered an intense expression. Like, if the Vulcan could stare at Jim hard enough, the captain would magically heal. McCoy had never been able to explain it, but he knew something was up. McCoy wasn't an expert on Vulcan's and their facial expressions, but he wasn't a dumbass either.

However, to try and tell Jim that now would probably fall on deaf ears, and make his friend feel even worse because he would just assume that McCoy was trying to blow smoke up his ass to make him feel better.

Instead he settled for staring at his friend in silence; pondering what he should say next.

Finally though, McCoy had to break the silence. He'd never seen Jim this quiet, and it was sort of disturbing to witness. He decided to just say what he wanted to say, regardless of the effect it had.

"I still think you did the wrong thing by going off on him like that, Jim," the doctor started softly, and instantly Jim glared at him, and opened his mouth, probably to fire off some furious reply, but McCoy beat him to it.

"But what's done is done, and honestly, I hope for both of your sakes that you're right," McCoy said evenly.

Jim wrinkled his eyebrows in bemusement, obviously not having expected that answer.

"I know you wanted a relationship with that Vulcan more than anything, Jim. I know it hurts that he's being so closed-off, and as much as Spock gets on my nerves, I really _did_ hope you two could _have_ that relationship you've been going on and on about," McCoy paused and rubbed at his eyes. "But, as much as you want that to happen, I do hope you're right because I would rather Spock to have come to some Vulcan epiphany than to have been through something else to make him act like this."

Jim sighed and spent a good twenty seconds forming a reply. "I don't know whether I'm supposed to feel cheered by that statement, Bones, or if I'm supposed to feel worse," he said sardonically, but it was laden in sadness.

"I'm not trying to cheer you up, and I'm not trying to make you feel worse, I'm just telling you like it is. But know this…" McCoy started and leaned in toward Jim, his hands bracing himself on the captain's desk. "If you're wrong about Spock, what just happened? What you just did? Good luck getting him to come clean now. You'll be lucky if decides to tell you what he had for breakfast ever again," he finished in all seriousness and turned to leave. He didn't want to be so harsh on his best friend, but it had to be said. If Spock really was as smitten with Jim as McCoy believed him to be, then Jim's anger toward him would only push the Vulcan further away, and since when the fuck did he become a goddamn marriage counselor? Because that's what all this felt like to McCoy; couple's fucking therapy.

He got all the way to the door when he heard Jim mutter in a small voice, "I'm not wrong, Bones."

McCoy didn't even bother to reply as the doors slid open and permitted him entrance into the corridor. He knew his friend was speaking out of anger, anger that his relationship with Spock was seemingly a one-way street. He just hoped that that anger wouldn't drive the Vulcan away for good.

((oOo))

Once Spock found himself back in his quarters, he immediately locked them, and enabled soundproofing, because honestly, he did not trust himself not to scream from the emotions whirling within him. Jim's anger, along with Spock's own desolation was still prominent in his battered mind, and it made his head pound vigorously with pain.

Blearily, he staggered over to his bed, and all but dropped the chess-board down onto it before his knees buckled and he went to the floor. His head felt like someone with immeasurable strength was squeezing it from every direction; compressing it until surely, his skull would burst under the pressure. Spock gasped in pain and held his head in his hands, willing it with Vulcan mental fortitude that he no longer possessed to go away. He just wanted the pain to end, but he didn't know how to do it. Meditation seemed impossible at the moment, not with the kind of agony he was in. He would _never _be able to reach the calm state required to enter into an effective trance.

Meditation, just like back on Altriri IV, seemed like a daunting, impossible process.

Spock's eyes, which had been clenched shut from the pain, shot open when he felt a warm wetness cascading down his upper lip. On the floor beneath him were green droplets of blood. Apparently, his nose had started bleeding. He felt…_angry_ at the sight of it. Angry that his body and his mind seemed to be falling apart simultaneously and he couldn't do anything about it. He was angry at himself for getting into this situation, and as much as he wanted to be angry at the High Priest, as much as he _wanted_ to blame someone out there for what he was going through right now…he couldn't.

He could not be angry because again, at the end of the day, he had consented. It was not fair to be angry with S'teth when he had given him the permission to use his body like he had. When he had allowed the Priest to touch him over and over again for the majority of his stay on the planet. Spock had only himself to be angry at.

Taking in a deep breath, Spock shakily rose from the floor and stumbled blearily into the shared bathroom, his head pounding with every step. He hoped against everything that Jim would not be utilizing it when he walked in, for he no doubt would see the bloody mess on the Vulcan's face.

When he saw that it was indeed vacant, he wasted no time in locking the bathroom, and enabling the soundproofing. He needed to do something about this pain. He needed to find some way to get his mind off of it that didn't involve just stunning himself with his phaser so he wouldn't have to feel it anymore. As appealing as that idea was, Spock knew it would look very bad if McCoy found him unconscious from being stunned.

Spock wasted no time in heading to the shower. He didn't even bother to strip himself of his clothes as he changed the settings from sonic to hyrdo-powered. He detested water, even more so after his stay on Altriri IV due to the _baths_ he had been forced to participate in, but at that moment…the cold, shrill water that came raining down on him from the ceiling of the shower was so stark and abrupt that for a moment, the stabbing pain in his head muted.

Spock was Vulcan, which meant that since his body temperature was normally only 91 degrees Fahrenheit as opposed to the human 98, cold water was even more detrimental to him, but at the moment he didn't care. He shook vigorously as the water soaked every inch of him, making his clothes heavy and constricting against his skin. Spock was shaking so hard that his teeth clattered, and eventually, his body began to go numb from the cold.

But again, Spock didn't care. If his body was numb and preoccupied with the freezing temperature, perhaps he could temporarily forget the agonizing pain in his head, and the sadness that had enveloped every inch of him; the sadness that he had lost everything in his life that had mattered.

Spock didn't know how long he stood under the freezing water, or exactly when he decided to sit down from fatigue. Eventually though, he forced himself up and out before he could do himself serious harm. He didn't want to leave the cold shower, for he feared that the migraine would return, but he had no other choice. As much as he hated his life at the moment, he could not bring himself to end that life.

He was still shaking violently when he shuffled back into his room a dripping mess. He knew he should take his wet, dripping clothes off, but he was too tired to change. He just wanted to sleep for days. However, he didn't want to sleep naked either. In fact, the mere thought of it sent a chill up his spine. If Spock had it his way, he would never be naked again. He felt safer, in his clothes, even though logically he was safer _out_ of them at the moment.

Deciding to keep them on, Spock stumbled over to his bed, moved the chess board over, and climbed in and under the covers. His nose had stopped bleeding fortunately, so he didn't have to worry about making a mess on his comforter. He drew the blankets up as high as they would go and laid there, staring at the door until finally…he drifted off into an uneasy sleep, his body continuing to shake violently as it fought to become warm again. Inside though, he wondered if would ever know that feeling.

**A.N. The name of this chapter comes from the song, "Say Something" by A Great Big World. It's perfect, really, for Jim's thoughts about Spock in this. We are approaching the end of Arc 1 for this story, and about to head into Arc 2. I would really appreciate your thoughts on this chapter. I could use some cheering up today. Thank you for taking the time to read, and tell your loved ones how much they mean to you. We never know when they just won't be there anymore to hear it. **


	7. The Silent Sufferer

**A.N. Hi everyone! Firstly, thank you guys soooo much for support last week over my grandmother's passing. It really did make me feel better, and now that the funeral is over, I feel like me and my mom are finally starting to move on from it. It's painful still, but I know that she is in a better place. Alzhiemer's is a horrible disease, and I'm happy that she is no longer suffering from it. **

**As for the reviews about the last chapter, thank you so much everyone for your continued support for this story! I love reading your thoughts and reactions. I suspect there will be one more chapter after this one until we head into Arc 2. **

**Warnings for this chapter do include a graphic scene, and I did put the XXXX for those of you that would rather skip over it. I hope you enjoy this. I'm surprised I got it up this weekend given the week I had. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Seven:**

**The Silent Sufferer**

When Spock awoke the next morning, he was graced with the usual dull throbbing in his head, though it was nowhere near the intensity that it had been the day prior. That was fortunate. What was _unfortunate, _however, was the scratchy, raw feeling he was experiencing in his throat.

Groaning slightly, Spock forced his body up and winced at the heaviness in his head that seemed to stretch all the way down to his chest. Was this another side effect of what the High Priest had done, and it was only now beginning to manifest? Spock had barely had a moment to ponder that though before his throat started to itch.

That concerned him, for he had never felt such a sensation in his body before.

The itching increased in intensity before it became unbearable, and he started to cough and sputter to rid himself of the sensation. Spock had never coughed before, so he found the actual experience to be quite bizarre. On the one hand, he wanted to cough, but on the other, he didn't want to. Yet, he could not stop himself. He coughed for so long that by the end of it, there were tears in his eyes, and his throat felt like someone had rubbed sandpaper up and down his esophagus. There was a term for this affliction. Spock had seen it once before in his mother when he had been a child.

He had obviously acquired what humans referred to as a 'cold'. No doubt he had caught it in his sleep as a direct result of dousing himself in freezing cold water, not bothering to warm himself or towel himself off, and sleeping in cold, wet clothes. Logically, Spock should have foreseen such a thing happening. He shouldn't have allowed himself to sleep in wet clothes, but the pain he had experienced last night in his head as well as his heart had stomped out all logical thought. He had been willing to do anything to put an end to that pain.

"Computer," Spock started hoarsely, and winced at the newfound pain in his throat caused from the simple act of speaking. "Computer, raise the temperature by twenty percent," he finished and listened as the computer obeyed. Despite being long dry from the cold shower he had taken, Spock couldn't feel colder at the moment. Every limb felt like ice, and Spock wondered if on top of his sore throat, he had acquired a fever as well. Normally, he would be able to discern his body temperature, but just like before on Altriri IV when he had tried and failed to identify his injuries, he could not learn his temperature now either.

Kicking his feet out from under the comforter, Spock frowned when he realized that he hadn't even bothered to remove his boots in the midst of his turmoil last night. Apparently, he had slept with them on.

This disturbed Spock, for it was bad enough to have slept in his wet uniform, but to have not even bothered removing his shoes was another thing entirely. It meant he had obviously showered with them on as well. Being someone who had always followed a specific routine when preparing for sleep, it was very unsettling to have been so…careless.

Before bending down to remove the boots, Spock spared the chronometer on his nightstand a quick glance. It was only 0320 in the morning, which was much too early to rise. But he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Despite still feeling exhausted, Spock was wide-awake. Perhaps he would attempt meditation to pass the time.

Feeling that that was the most logical and beneficial thing to do, Spock removed his boots, rose with difficulty from his bed, and walked over to his meditation mat across the room. He lit his incense, briefly pondered changing his clothes, but eventually decided against it, and sat himself down in his standard lotus position. It was strange that what once had felt like second nature to Spock, felt so bizarre to him at the moment. He had not meditated in almost three weeks; far too long for a Vulcan to go without doing such a thing, but it had felt like years to him as he sat there, attempting to enter into a trance.

He had barely been seated there two minutes before the itching sensation returned to his agonized throat and forced him into another coughing fit; this one longer than the last and more painful. When it was over, he shuddered, and took a shaky breath. He had always heard humans complain about the annoyance of having a sore throat, but he had never imagined it would feel like this, or be as irritating as this.

After the fifth coughing fit, Spock gave up the attempt at meditation. It was impossible to enter into a trance with such an ailment plaguing him. Plus, he had grown unbearably thirsty. Perhaps the warmth of his Vulcan tea would soothe his burning throat.

Getting up, Spock walked the short distance to his replicator, which he had reprogrammed himself to provide a selection of Vulcan beverages, and put in the command for the mildest flavor. He usually preferred a spicier variation, but he feared that his throat would protest. Therefore, the tea he ended up choosing was one that had been his mother's favorite. She had rarely been able to tolerate the degree of spice that Vulcans preferred in their beverages.

He watched impatiently as the replicator carried out his request, and tried his best not to be too eager when he brought it out and to his dry lips. The cup was steaming, which was just how he preferred it, and he nearly moaned in pleasure as the warm liquid cascaded down his fiery throat and into his empty stomach. The taste was a bit off, but Spock assumed that that was because he was ill. He knew that being ill caused one's taste buds to be slightly skewed. However, that had nothing to do with the temperature, which at the moment was the most soothing, wonderful thing he had experienced in an entire month.

Already feeling warmer than before, Spock set his mug down and walked back over to his bed. He eyed the chessboard remorsefully before picking it up, and stowing it in his closet on one of the shelves. He stood there a moment, eyeing the board, before he forced himself to look away and grabbed a clean uniform. It would not be logical to stand there and stare at an object that held no use for him anymore. In fact, for a moment Spock wondered why he didn't just throw the board away as Jim had suggested. To hold onto it was illogical and emotional.

However, he just could not bring himself to do such a thing. It just felt…wrong to discard it so carelessly. Spock knew his father would be ashamed to witness his son acting so emotional toward an inanimate object; but it wasn't the first thing Sarek would be ashamed of his son about, so Spock decided not to worry about it.

Clean uniform in hand, Spock took another quick sip of his tea to quell the growing itch in his throat, and set them on his bed. For no logical reason at all, Spock peered around himself cautiously before divesting himself of his clothing. It felt strange to him to be able to undress in privacy instead of in the presence of someone else; someone else who at that point would have wasted no time in beginning to touch him harshly and lustfully.

Spock knew he was alone, but he still couldn't help but feel vulnerable as he stood there in his nakedness. Instantly he clenched his eyes shut, and cursed himself for being so emotional. For being so childish.

_Get a hold of yourself, Spock. You are alone. S'teth is not here. He cannot hurt you. You are alone. You are alone, _he told himself sternly as he stood there in the middle of the room, his fists clenched at his side. He would overcome this. He had to. He was a Starfleet officer, not a child.

Finally, Spock opened his eyes again and for the first time since leaving the planet, he felt a measure of calm. He had stood there naked for exactly 8.2 minutes, and nothing bad had happened to him. There were no large alien hands groping his body. No one had forced him onto the bed, or onto the desk, or on the floor to use him, and no one had ordered him to do anything that would either hurt him, or shame him. Before, all of those things would have happened in the expanse of two minutes, and it had been far longer than that.

It had been eight minutes, and Spock was still safe and untouched.

That revelation alone gave him the strength to grab his clean uniform as well as a new pair of underwear, his toiletries bag, and the salve that Dr. McCoy had given him and head toward the shared bathroom. He had been given explicit instructions by the doctor to apply the salve generously twice a day to decrease the severity of the bruising, and Spock wanted nothing more than to rid his tainted body of those bruises, those marks made on him by another as if to claim ownership. The mirror in the bathroom would be his guide as he did so.

Being that it was still so early on the Enterprise, Spock did not expect to see Jim in their shared bathroom, so he did not think of locking the captain's door. The bathroom was much colder than his room, and Spock couldn't repress the shiver that escaped him as the chilly air embraced his bruised skin, effectively causing goose bumps to rise.

He set his bag on the counter and stood in front of the mirror to evaluate himself; and just like that day on Altriri IV when Ch'iora had eyed his body with wide-eyes after agreeing to help him dress; he wished he hadn't.

The Vulcan—if one could call him that—staring back at him did not look like him at all. The _creature_ staring back at him was grossly thin, pale, and covered in fading bruises. His face was much too thin, and his cheeks were flushed green from the fever he was likely running. His eyes though were the most disturbing to Spock. To the untrained eye, they appeared blank and unfeeling, but to Spock…they were anything but blank. They were full of self-loathing, guilt, pain, and sadness. He had never seen his eyes look as pitiful as they did at that moment, and it shamed him that others would potentially be able to see the same things.

At least he could cover his sad excuse for a body with clothing, but he could not cover his eyes.

_You have such beautiful eyes, so full of delicious emotion…_S'teth had said to him back on that planet, and the alien had been correct. His eyes _were _full of emotion. Despite needing them, Spock wished he could cut his eyes out, so that no one would ever be able to comment on them, and he would never have to look upon his body, or his uncontrollable expressions again.

Another bout of coughing brought him out of his desolate feelings and seconds later found him turning the faucet settings to hyrdo-power, filling his hands with water, and bringing it to his hacking mouth to cool the fire in his throat. He repeated that process four times before the coughing ceased, and then sat himself down on the toilet behind him to regain his composure. Coughing, it seemed, took a lot of energy that he just did not have.

When Spock felt that he could breathe again, he stood back up and faced the mirror. The second part of his body that grabbed his attention was the flaccid penis hanging there on his body. Before Altriri IV, he had never really given his genital area much thought. They were a necessary part of his anatomy, and what was necessary shouldn't bring him pain, but looking at them now did pain him. Over the past three weeks they had been touched and handled in ways he had never even imagined, sometimes painfully.

Looking upon them before used to be like looking at everything else; an impassive endeavor. However, looking upon them now only served to remind him of just how disgusting he was, and what he was capable of. What the thing hanging there was capable of.

Not wanting his genitals so exposed anymore, Spock decided to put his briefs on, but left his pants for after he applied the salve. While there were no bruises on his legs, one of the bruises started just below his naval and ended on his pelvis. It would be far easier to pull his briefs down than pants in order to apply the medication. Logically, he knew it would be easier just to remain naked rather than wear anything at all. But Spock felt better having his lower half concealed at least by something. His bravery, it seemed, had ended in his bedroom.

Not wanting to waste anymore time, Spock grabbed the salve on the counter and opened the lid. It was a thick, white gel that had a sticky, yet smooth consistency. Spock tried hard not to think about another substance it reminded him of when he scooped out a small amount with his finger, used his other hand to pull the front of his briefs down (which wasn't difficult, considering how loosely they fit him now) and placed it tenderly on the large bruise there. It was actually one of the most expansive bruises, and Spock couldn't help but shudder at the memory of how he had gotten it; of too-strong hands pushing him down as if to break right through him.

He had barely started to rub it in when the door to Jim's quarters slid open, and the captain came walking in. He wore a pair of black, Starfleet-issued sleep pants, but his chest and feet were bare. His eyes were half lidded with sleep and his hair was in disarray. It was obvious he had just gotten up, and it was obvious by the look of surprise on his face that he hadn't been expecting to meet Spock in the bathroom.

"Spock?" Jim started blearily; his eyes squinted from the stark whiteness of the bathroom as opposed to the evident darkness behind him in his quarters. "What…what are you doing?" he asked as his eyes roamed up and down Spock's body.

Spock, who was still holding one side of his briefs down, the side closest to Jim, let them snap back up immediately; the salve forgotten on his finger. "Captain," he started shakily as he turned and started to back up, but Jim wasn't looking at his face, he was looking at Spock's naked torso. He no longer appeared tired, or half-asleep. No, Jim was wide-awake now, and Spock could not help but feel a stab of apprehension at being so exposed in front of him.

_No. Jim is not S'teth. They are two different individuals. Jim would never force his touch on you,_ his logical half fought to tell him, to make him understand, and Spock could not help but feel shame for the way he was reacting. How many times had Spock seen Jim in this bathroom? How many times had they stood here, brushing their teeth simultaneously? Or combing their hair? _"You should let me gel your hair up sometime. I can just imagine the look on Bones' face if you came into the mess-hall with that black hair standing straight up," _Jim would sometimes joke with him, and Spock would reward him with that slight quirk of the lips.

Granted, Spock had never been clad in only his briefs in Jim's presence. He had always been in uniform, but he had never experienced the feelings he was experiencing right now. It was all new to him; these feelings that invaded his battered mind every second of every day. At least humans had grown up learning how to handle their emotions as they experienced them; but for a being that had been taught to suppress them before being _able_ to experience them, Spock was at a complete loss on how to process his new emotions. Yes, it was true that he had his moments, his lapse in control, but at least it had been brief. This was different. It was unpredictable.

He had to get out of here.

"Captain, I apologize for waking you. It was not my intention," Spock hastened to say as he grabbed his clothes and brought them close to his body.

Jim, who had still been looking at his torso, snapped his eyes back up to meet Spock's. He looked confused, like he hadn't comprehended what Spock had just said. "What? Waking me? You didn't wake me…" he paused and eyed the container of salve on the counter. "Is that the medicine Bones gave you for those bruises? Do you need help putting it on?" he furthered in genuine concern.

For a moment, Spock couldn't speak. Where was the angry captain from yesterday? In the human across from him, all Spock could feel was concern, and confusion radiating off the man. Not anger. And why? He was supposed to be angry at him. Spock _needed _Jim to be angry at him so that he did not discover the truth.

"What Dr. McCoy has prescribed to me is my business, Captain. And the answer to your offer is no. I do not require your assistance," Spock replied in a voice that he hardly recognized. If he were being honest, he _could_ use assistance for the bruises on his back that his arms would not be able to reach, but there was no way he could allow someone to help him; let alone Jim's help.

Jim flinched at Spock's words, and the once concerned expression transformed into a hardened one. The familiar anger and hurt that Spock had started becoming accustomed to feeling replaced the confusion and concern, which only made Spock's head hurt.

It was painful to witness, and to feel, but Spock had no other choice. The less that his captain and the crew saw of his bruises, the better. Having Jim rub salve on his back would only lead to more suspicion, and a human need to know more about them.

"Again, I apologize for waking you. I will endeavor to be quieter in the future," he finished when the human remained silent. He hugged his clothes closer, grabbed his toiletries bag, and turned to leave the bathroom.

"Wait a minute," Jim called out to him just as his door began to slide close. Reluctantly, Spock turned back around. The last time Jim had asked him to wait, he had had a chessboard shoved toward him. He had witnessed a friendship coming to an end. "You might want this, _Commander_," he finished sardonically, and shoved the container of salve into Spock's hand much like he'd done with the chessboard. In his haste to vacate the bathroom, Spock had forgotten it on the bathroom counter. "Wouldn't want you to disobey Bones' medical orders, would we?" he furthered sarcastically before stepping back, and permitting Spock's door to slide shut. Spock flinched when moments later, he heard the locks being engaged.

((oOo))

When 0600 hours rolled around, a now fully-clothed Spock decided to head to the mess hall. He was not hungry at all. In fact, his throat protested the process of food scraping across it, but he knew that if he did not go to the mess hall and attain some form of sustenance, his diet card, which was being monitored by Dr. McCoy no doubt, would reflect it. If he wished for the doctor to put him back on duty, he needed to at least _show_ some improvement, or he would fail at convincing his peers that nothing was wrong with him.

When Spock arrived at the mess hall, he found it half-full, and unfortunately, the entire Alpha-bridge crew, including the captain, were in attendance and all seated at the same table. And why should they not be? A month ago, Spock had sat at that same table with the same people. In fact, he had always sat across from Jim, and had often found himself pointing out the health concerns of the various breakfast items Jim usually replicated for himself, which had usually not been the most logical choice to start one's day.

As he walked further into the room, almost every head in the mess hall turned to regard him. Some, the people who had yet to see him since his return to the ship, looked at him in shock due to his drastically thin appearance, while others looked at him in concern. The only face in the room that was _not_ looking at him was Jim. Even Nyota had fixed her eyes on him in concern.

Acting as if he did not notice, Spock walked fluidly to the replicator, did his best not to wince in pain as emotion after emotion surged through his defenseless mind, and ordered a bowl of plomeek soup and a cup of tea. He couldn't replicate his Vulcan tea in the mess hall since the replicators weren't programmed for it, so regular tea would have to suffice.

By the time he'd turned back around to find a place to sit, most of the people in the room had turned their attention back to their breakfast and individual conversations. Jim's table however, had not. They were still staring at him, and Spock had a suspicion that they were wondering just where he planned on sitting.

There were two empty seats at the table. One, Spock knew, was for Dr. McCoy if he decided to attend breakfast, and the other was next to Nyota. Spock knew it was the seat he usually took for himself. But that was in another life.

Eyes carefully averted forward, Spock walked right past the table and toward an empty one in the far corner of the mess hall. It held the largest proximity around it, and therefore, would be the least painful for Spock to inhabit given his damaged shields. He could feel every eye at Jim's table burning a hole into his back as he passed them, and sat his tray down. A small part of him _did_ wish to sit with them, if only to surround himself with the people he had grown to trust, but it was a small part. Not only would his migraine kick in given sitting so close to the other humans, but they would likely ask him questions; questions he was not sure he could answer.

He had barely been seated a minute before his throat started itching again, and before he could stop himself, he started coughing. A table of engineers next to him gazed at him in shocked concern at his coughing fit. They had likely never seen a coughing Vulcan before.

"Commander? Are you okay, sir?" one of them asked Spock as he struggled to drink his tea to quell his cough before it grew in volume and intensity, and he garnered the attention of the entire room. It was likely that Nyota had already noticed it, and he half expected her to get up and come over to his table if she had.

"I am…" Spock started just before another cough interrupted him. The engineers turned and glanced uneasily at one another. "Fine, Lt. Giaspo. Thank you," he finished hoarsely. It hurt to speak.

The engineer looked momentarily taken a back at Spock remembering his name, before nodding reluctantly and turning back to the people at his table.

Once he was sure that the episode had passed, Spock eyed his tray with the bowl of soup. He knew he should eat, but his appetite had other ideas.

"Spock," the familiar voice of Nyota sounded just as she sat down beside him, concern evident in her eyes as well as her mind. Spock repressed a wince as her emotions rubbed against his.

"Lt. Uhura," he answered impassively, and scooted himself slightly away from her. She winced at the retreat, but didn't say anything. "You are not sitting at your preferred table," he added in observation as he forced his spoon into the soup, and brought the liquid meal to his mouth. He did not wish to eat, but given that she was watching him, it would be best to appear as if he _did_ have an appetite.

Nyota stiffened in her seat at the brisk tone. "No. I'm not. And, neither are you…" she let her voice trail off.

"I am Vulcan, Lt. Uhura. Therefore, I do not _have_ emotional attachments to material objects. I chose this table at random."

"That's bullshit, Spock. You're avoiding us. You always sit at our table," she deadpanned, her eyes narrowed.

Spock, who had been holding his spoon just up to his mouth again, set it down into the bowl loudly, and turned to glare at her. "Perhaps I wish to distance myself from the illogical conversation that takes place at that table. I deduce that by eating my meals in solitude, I can finish them more quickly and efficiently, which will therefore give me more time to complete my duties. I estimate that sitting in the company of others to obtain sustenance adds fifteen point three minutes to the average length of time it should take me to replenish energy stores by way of a food source. That is fifteen point three minutes that would be better spent in a logical endeavor that will serve the ship instead of frivolous conversation that serves no purpose," Spock stated firmly. Of course, he didn't actually believe his words, no matter how logical they might have sounded to another Vulcan.

A year ago, Spock might have agreed with the statement he'd just uttered. Now though, Spock realized that he'd come to enjoy his time spent in the mess hall in the presence of the people he considered friends; especially in Jim's presence. It had made him feel like he belonged.

However, until he could determine the root of his shielding problem, and correct it, Spock did not want to chance himself in such close proximity to the crew, his friends.

It hurt his head just having _Nyota_ this close to him with his unshielded mind. Every hint of bitterness, or anger, or sadness she felt for him, he could feel it wholly. Spock could only imagine just how much more painful it would be if, instead of just Nyota, he were surrounded by the bridge crew as well, especially with Jim included in that group. Not only was it uncomfortable and painful, but if they were to find out—if _Jim_ were to find out about the constant pain he was in—they would grow suspicious.

Even more suspicious than they already were.

There was a long moment where Nyota didn't say anything, she merely stared at him, her gaze calculating and even. Spock could feel the familiar itch start in his throat, but he did his best to suppress the cough attempting to make itself known. "Fine, Spock. That's just…" she halted and inhaled deeply whilst shaking her head; a clear sign of irritation and frustration. "That's just fine. Whatever," Nyota finished with a shake of her head, and abruptly rose from the table.

She had barely turned and started walking off back toward the other table where _everyone _except for Jim appeared to be watching them, when Spock let out another hacking cough. He had tried so hard to suppress it, but had failed.

Nyota paused and turned back around to study him in the midst of his struggle. "I'd get that checked out, Commander. That's the logical thing to do, isn't it?" she spat sarcastically before turning back around and resuming her trek across the room. Just when she sat back down, Jim caught Spock's eyes, making the Vulcan quickly avert the gaze. He did not wish to look upon his captain at that moment. He did not wish to look at anyone. Obviously, coming to the mess hall had been a mistake. He wasn't hungry anyway, he couldn't keep his cough under control, and being that the morning was growing later, more and more officers were making their way into the mess hall for breakfast. Spock knew it would only go downhill from there.

Abruptly he rose from the table, but was forced to lean over slightly when a sudden bout of lightheadedness overcame him. He could feel his heart pounding in his side as a direct result of his fever, and already his throat was beginning to itch again.

He needed to get back to his quarters. It had been a mistake coming here when he was obviously this ill.

Ignoring the continued lightheadedness, Spock abandoned his tray on the table, and tried his best to walk out of the mess hall as pristinely as possible. Though every step was proving to be harder than the previous one.

"Excuse me," he muttered to a group of red shirts that were entering the mess hall for breakfast, thereby blocking his exit.

"Commander? Are you alright?" one of them asked him worriedly as he tried to pass, but Spock did not answer. He just wanted to get out of the room and all its chaotic emotions. He wanted to get back to his quarters where he could cough as much as his body wanted to without worrying who would hear him.

Once Spock had arrived back to his quarters, he ordered the temperature as high as it would go and collapsed onto his unmade bed. He was so cold that his teeth were chattering in his skull, and all he could think about was getting under the protective warmth of his comforter.

No sooner had he covered himself up did he break out into another coughing fit, and this one had been the most painful episode yet. It seemed that the more he coughed, the more raw and chaffed his throat became. It was agonizing, and it frustrated him to no end.

Spock had never been sick, not like this. Even if he had done the illogical thing and exposed himself to sub-par water temperatures, thereby encouraging the illness to emerge, his Vulcan immune system should not be this weak. He should be able to prevent this kind of affliction. And yet, here he lay, coughing and wheezing.

"_You are so weak, Vulcan."_

How many times were S'teth's words going to be proven true?

Wanting to close himself off from the room, Spock pulled the comforter up and over his aching head and closed his eyes. Perhaps if he tried hard enough, he could sleep through his illness.

((oOo**)) XXXXXXXXXX **

"Wake up, my Vulcan," a familiar voice purred silkily into Spock's ears, a voice that chilled the Vulcan to the core. But surely, it could not be who he thought it was. He was not on Altriri IV anymore. That planet was far away from him.

An irritated sigh sounded a moment later, along with the force of someone roughly pushing his shoulder. "I said, wake up, _Vulcan. _Do not keep me waiting," the voice pestered again, only confirming what Spock fearfully thought.

_No, it cannot be. I am on the Enterprise. He cannot be on the Enterprise. I am safe on the Enterprise, _Spock thought desperately as he opened his weary eyes, only to come face to face with cold, golden-speckled ones.

Inhaling sharply, Spock immediately attempted to move himself away from the large alien lying naked across from him on his Starfleet bed, but as always, he was too slow. Large, invading hands grabbed him hungrily and attempted to pull him closer.

"No!" Spock yelled as he struggled to free himself from the much stronger alien who was growing angrier and angrier with Spock's resistance.

"Be still!" S'teth ordered gruffly as he maneuvered his oversized body on top of Spock's, straddling him, while his large arms effectively pinned Spock's hands above his head.

"No! No more! Please!" Spock heard himself crying out, and was too frightened to be ashamed of it. His head felt like it had been split open, and his body ached anew in places he had been trying to forget just at the mere thought of what the alien intended to do to him. He could not go through this again. Why? Why was S'teth here? How? All of these thoughts were running through Spock's head as he pondered the alien's presence on the Enterprise…a place he had thought himself safe from the High Priest of Altriri IV.

A sharp stinging sensation flooded his left cheek and his head went whipping to the side. Before Spock could make sense of the fact that he had just been viciously backhanded, strong fingers gripped his chin and forced his head back around; the alien's other hand still firmly latched around both of Spock's wrists. "You will shut your useless mouth you miserable _Jea'vah_!" S'teth hissed at him, his face lowered dangerously close to Spock's. "Or I will put myself in it. I will give that mouth a purpose, do you understand me?" he went on, his fingers applying added pressure onto Spock's jaw for emphasis.

Spock had no doubt what _purpose_ the alien would give his mouth, and he found himself going pliant underneath S'teth's large body if only to spare himself. His throat was on fire from his illness, and the last thing he wanted shoved down it was an alien penis. Even if he wasn't suffering from sickness, Spock still did not wish anything to be put in his mouth…ever again.

Above him, S'teth smirked at him, and let his chin go. He then reached the same arm behind him and brought a twine of rope back around. Spock felt dread encompass him as the priest used the twine to bind his wrists together. He wanted to ask how. How had the alien gotten onto the ship? How had he gained access to Spock's quarters? Why hadn't Jim noticed? Why hadn't _anyone_ noticed?

His panicked thoughts on Jim, Spock let his eyes dart over to the door of the shared bathroom, hoping beyond hope that the captain would come barging in and put a stop to what the Vulcan knew was about to happen. It would surely reveal his secret, but at that moment, Spock could not bring himself to care. He _hated_ the being on top of him who was currently ripping his clothes off with an animalistic fury. The sound that his shirt, pants and underwear made as they were torn off of him vibrated throughout the room. He felt like his pieces of himself were being torn off.

Once he was fully naked, S'teth caught Spock's wandering eyes and followed their trail over to the door. He cackled when he realized what Spock was looking at. "Oh, Spock. Do you think your captain is going to come through that door? Do you think he is going to save you? Because he isn't—," S'teth started sarcastically as he inserted himself between the Vulcan's quivering thighs, his hard length pressing up against him. He leaned his large head back down near Spock's face. "He doesn't care what I do to you. In fact, I think he might even enjoying watching me take you," he finished darkly just before shoving himself fiercely inside Spock.

Instantly Spock clenched his moist eyes shut, and cried out from the familiar pain that assaulted him in his rectum. It was a pain he would never forget, and obviously, one that he would never escape.

"Ahhhh yes…." S'teth moaned as he moved against the Vulcan at a brutal speed, one of his hands moving up to cradle the Vulcan's face. Spock knew the gesture, he knew that soon the Altririan would enter his mind and ravage across his bruised mental landscape.

"Open your eyes, damn you!" the alien snapped and Spock immediately obeyed. And why should he not? His body was not his; his mind was not even his. He had been a fool to think he could ever escape this.

"That's it. Let me always see those beautiful eyes. Don't ever hide them from me…" S'teth rasped just as he lifted Spock's hips up off the bed to penetrate him from a different angle. Spock grunted in pain, but let his body be lifted and handled. It was pointless to fight. He never won, and if his time down on Altriri IV had taught him anything, sometimes being silent and still was the only way to defend oneself.

The only outward sign of struggle that Spock was unable to control were the tears that fell down his face. Tears of shame, of fear, of pain, and regret. Regret for not being able to stop this. Regret for allowing it to continue. Regret for permitting himself to believe that he had escaped High Priest S'teth.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Spock…" S'teth called out, his voiced laced with concern. For a moment, Spock didn't know what to think about that. Concern? Why was the priest concerned?

"Spock! Come out of it!" S'teth furthered, only…the voice didn't match the mouth. It was someone else's voice.

Confusion. That's what Spock felt.

"Spock! Wake up! Dammit!"

Spock blinked, only this time when he opened his eyes…S'teth was gone. There was no one on top of him, currently sheathed inside of him. He was not naked. His wrists had not been tied with twine, and standing beside the bed, beside his body hovering over him, stood Dr. McCoy.

"Doctor?" Spock asked stupidly before he could quell the impulse. His voice sounded hoarse, and he was aware that his heart was thrumming speedily in his side like he had been running a marathon. However, he did not feel hot, as one would expect from the physical act of running. Instead, he felt cold; ice cold.

The fever.

The expression on the doctor's face was one of intense worry, like he had just seen something that had disturbed him. Spock thought back to S'teth. Obviously, what he had just experienced, what he had just seen, had all been a dream; a nightmare. Spock had had plenty of nightmares in the past month, but none of them had been that vivid or that detailed. None of them had felt that real. What scared Spock at the moment though, was how much had McCoy seen? How much of the _nightmare_ had he heard? What if he had slipped up and mentioned the priest?

"Jesus Spock, do you have any idea how long I stood here, trying to wake you up? Were you…were you having a nightmare?" McCoy asked as if he couldn't believe it.

For a moment, Spock merely blinked at him. How much should he admit? He could not deny the fact that he had just had a nightmare, for the doctor had seen as much, but he also did not want to raise suspicion. "I…do not know. I regret that I do not recall what I was dreaming about," he lied hoarsely, his throat protesting greatly to the act of speaking. He did not know how it was possible, but he felt worse now than he had before slipping into sleep. His head throbbed painfully, and his throat felt like knives had been raked up and down it.

Dr. McCoy narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously before bringing out his tricorder, and leaning his body in closer toward Spock.

A surge of fear moved through the Vulcan, and instantly he found himself backing his body away from the doctor. McCoy raised an eyebrow and immediately halted in his advance. Spock took advantage of the man's temporary silence.

"Dr. McCoy. Why are you here? How did you get in my quarters?" Spock asked, if only to distract the man so he would not continue his advance. After the nightmare he had just experienced? He did not wish for _any _male to be so close to him while he was in such a vulnerable position. Logically, Spock knew he could easily overpower the CMO of the Enterprise, but at that moment, he wasn't thinking very logically. He was thinking instinctively.

Fortunately, the doctor paused and straightened back up at the question, his expression somewhat defiant. "I'm here because you didn't answer your communicator, and I can get in your quarters anytime I want to, Spock. I'm the CMO on this floating bucket. There's a rumor going around that you've been hacking your lungs out all over the ship, and a Vulcan with a cold can be a serious thing. You should have come and seen me or Dr. M'Benga the moment you realized you had a cough," McCoy scolded, his tone belittling.

"Who has apprised you of this information?" Spock asked crisply, ignoring most of the man's statement.

Dr. McCoy paled slightly before blurting out, "does it matter?"

Spock blinked at him, and the man sighed as a result. "I've already done a reading with the tricorder, Spock. You've got a pretty severe case of Acute Bronchitis, and you've got a fever on top of that. You're not fooling me."

Spock's answer, to his immense dismay, ended up being an ear-splitting cough that lasted for what seemed like an eternity. By the end of it, he had so many tears colluding his eyes that he hadn't seen the doctor leave his bedside, or return a cup in his hand.

"Here, drink this," McCoy encouraged him quietly as Spock fought to regain his breath. Normally, he would have declined whatever beverage the doctor was encouraging him to imbibe, but at the moment, any kind of liquid sounded like heaven to his burning throat. It didn't take him long at all to reach out, grab the cup in McCoy's hands, and bring it greedily to his mouth. Spock inwardly moaned in relief as the soothing warmth of Vulcan tea went like a gentle stream down his ravaged throat. Before he knew it, the cup had been emptied, his throat temporarily soothed.

"Thank you…Doctor," Spock expressed quietly, his gaze averted to the cup in his hands. It was hard to argue with someone who had just bestowed so much kindness on him.

"Don't mention it, it's my job, and to answer your previous question," McCoy started casually, prompting Spock to look up at him. "Jim's the one who told me. Came to me in sickbay just after lunch and said he'd seen you coughing. Asked' me to check on you," the man finished and ran a hand through his hair nervously; as if he had just admitted something he wasn't supposed to admit.

Spock averted his gaze again, wondering if Jim had asked McCoy to check on him as a friend, or as a captain concerned about the wellbeing of a member of the crew. Given their interaction in the bathroom earlier that morning…Spock found himself leaning more toward the latter.

"Now, how did you get this, Spock? I _know _Vulcan's don't get sick easily; especially with something like Bronchitis. You didn't have this yesterday when I scanned you," McCoy stated in a suspicious tone of voice, and made to sit down next to Spock on the bed.

It took all of Spock's willpower not to shy away this time. "I can…only assume that it is another side effect of being on the planet, Dr. McCoy. The climate was quite different, and as the palace was mainly ventilated by way of an open air source, I found myself constantly exposed to said climate," Spock answered carefully, and hoped his lie would sound convincing. It wasn't far-fetched. He _could _have acquired bronchitis as a direct result of being exposed to the draft caused by the open airflow throughout the palace. He only hoped that the doctor would find his lie convincing.

For a long moment, Dr. McCoy just sat there and stared at him, his gaze calculating. Spock could feel in his mind that the doctor was still wary; as if he didn't quite believe Spock's story, and that made Spock feel nervous as a result.

"Spock. What's really going on with you?" McCoy asked him quietly, gently.

Spock feigned ignorance with a raised eyebrow. "Clarify."

McCoy sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. "I know I'm not Jim, Spock."

Spock blinked at him.

"But…despite what you may think, I do care about your well-being, and, if there's something you want to talk about, or share, I'm here to listen to you. Anything you say would be between us. We might not get along most of the time, but I'm here to help you," McCoy said softly, his gaze uncharacteristically warm.

Taking a shuddering breath, Spock attempted to sit himself up. It was…awkward to be conversing in such a way; him lying down in bed while Dr. McCoy hovered over him. To his relief, the doctor made no move to aid him.

"Your offer is appreciated, Dr. McCoy, and in the future, if there is a specific topic I feel the need to share with you, I will endeavor to do so," Spock answered in monotone.

McCoy leveled his eyes at him before glancing at the door. "Okay, Spock. I won't push you into talking. But, just remember, my door is always open."

"The status of your door has been noted, Doctor," Spock replied shortly, making the human sigh just before he reached down and picked up the medical bag he had brought with him.

"Well, as long as I'm here, I might as well make myself useful. Can you come sit on the edge of the bed for me? This will be a lot easier," the doctor suggested tiredly, his disappointment at Spock's closed-off disposition palpable in his mind.

For the second time since being awakened, Spock felt a surge of apprehension and fear. He was safe and covered underneath his blanket, and he had no wish to leave that safety.

McCoy, who had been rummaging through his bag, pulled out a hypospray and gazed at Spock in bemusement when he realized the Vulcan still had not moved. "Spock. Seriously, come sit on the edge of the bed so I can fix you. That fever's not gonna take care of itself."

"On the contrary, Doctor. I am Vulcan. I can enter into a healing trance and correct the problem myself," Spock countered, and while it shouldn't be a lie, it was. Spock _should _be able to enter into a trance and heal his illness, but such a feat seemed impossible to him at the moment. However, the doctor need not know such a thing. He only needed to believe it. Once he believed it, he would leave Spock's quarters and the Vulcan would not feel so weighed down by the frantic emotions pulsing within him.

McCoy's eyebrow went up, and the Doctor fixed him with a knowing gaze. "If that were true, you would've already done it. Plus, what's the harm in me speeding the process along? Now, come on, quit whining and get over here so I can do my job. The sooner you comply, the sooner I'll be out of your hair," the man complained, and while Spock had heard this sort of attitude exhibited a thousand times before, he could not help but compare it the alien he had come to know so intimately on Altriri IV.

"_Oh quit your incessant whining! I did not know that a Vulcan could complain as much as you do!"_

_ "You dare make one more complaint, and I promise that I will make tonight exquisitely painful for you, Vulcan. I will have you screaming in no time at all."_

Dr. McCoy was nothing like S'teth, but that didn't stop his cadence from sounding similar. He was irritated, that much Spock could feel from the human, and irritation usually led to anger. Spock was no stranger to anger, and given the state of his shields as well as his body, he would avoid it at all costs.

Not making a sound, Spock shifted his body out from under the blanket and into a seated position. He halfway expected to be entirely naked like in the nightmare, but that was not the case. To his utter relief, he was still fully clothed in his black pants and blue science shirt. Despite being clothed though, he felt unbearably cold and vulnerable, but as much as he wanted to, he refused to shiver. He told himself that he wasn't cold. That he couldn't be because the temperature in the room was on the highest possible setting. He told himself that he was safe around the doctor. He was safe. This was the Enterprise, not Altriri IV.

"Jesus, Spock. You couldn't even change into some pj's?" McCoy muttered in disdain under his breath as he walked the distance around the bed and sat down beside Spock, his tricorder and the hypo in hand. Spock resisted the urge to recoil from the man as he sat dangerously close to him. In fact, the only thing keeping the Vulcan still was the large amount of doctorly concern radiating off of the man. There were no ulterior motives that Spock could feel; no need to have or to take, and despite the horrifying dream he had just experienced, the Vulcan felt some semblance of safety around the doctor as a result of his benign feelings.

"Are you cold?" McCoy asked as he waved the tricorder about Spock's person, his eyes focused intently on the readings.

"I…do find myself experiencing an undesirable temperature, Doctor. Perhaps my thermostat is faulty," Spock answered, knowing by the sweat pooling down the doctor's face that there was nothing wrong with his thermostat.

McCoy snorted. "No, the thermostat is definitely working. I feel like I could spontaneously combust at any second in this sauna. You're cold because of this fever, Spock," he paused and stared at Spock over the tricorder. "You're body temp. is ninety-eight degrees, Spock. That's normal for humans, but that's way too high for a Vulcan. Here," the human finished and brought the hypo up to Spock's neck. Spock winced slightly as the needle made contact with his skin, but other than that, he made no further complaints.

"That will break the fever, and this…" Dr. McCoy paused yet again, placed the used hypo back in his bag before pulling out another hypospray; this one blue in color. "This is a steroid as well as an anti-biotic." Another sharp pain in his neck, this one slightly more painful than the last. Errantly Spock wondered if they would leave bruises. He did not wish to acquire more bruises. "I got these off of Dr. M'Benga's approved list of medications for you Vulcans. I'd give that about an hour before it starts to kick in. You should be starting to feel better by then," he finished softly, deposited the second hypo back in his bag, and brought out a smaller, plastic bag that he handed to Spock who eyed it in bemusement.

"Those are cough drops. Strawberry flavored. They're a bit old-fashioned, but they might come in handy as you ride the rest of this thing out," McCoy explained in slight amusement when he caught sight of Spock eyeing the plastic bag with elevated eyebrows and the barest amount of disdain. "Plus, while they're not a meal replacement, they do contain a slight amount of calories, and I dare say you need every calorie you can get at the moment," the doctor went on disapprovingly while he eyed the Vulcan's thin frame.

"These are unneeded, doctor," Spock answered and attempted to hand the plastic bag back to the human, but Dr. McCoy was already up and off the bed, his body slowing backing away.

"Don't knock them until you try them, Spock," McCoy countered in a tone of voice that meant Spock would not be giving the bag back. Begrudgingly, Spock closed his hand around them, and focused on the crunching sound the material made.

"I appreciate your assistance, Dr. McCoy."

McCoy sighed and picked his bag up. "Yeah, well, it wouldn't kill you to _ask _for assistance every now and again, Spock. I mean seriously, you should have come to me this morning. You're supposed to be using this time to recuperate, not get worse. If you'd let that fever get any higher…"

"I will endeavor to take your advice in the future, Dr. McCoy," Spock cut him off brusquely. His migraine it seemed was starting to come back full force, and the last thing he wanted was Dr. McCoy and his rampant emotionalism to be present while he suffered through it. Plus…if his nose started bleeding again, he did not know how he would explain it.

"Will you, though?" the doctor probed softly and almost in a whisper. It was a tone that Spock had never heard before, and for a moment Spock was speechless. For a moment, the doctor had sounded like Jim—or, like Jim used to sound.

Spock could only stare at him in response, and after a few moments the doctor cleared his throat awkwardly and walked stiffly toward the door. He was just about to exit through when he paused as if to consider something. "Hey…" he started while he turned back around. "Do Vulcan's sweat?"

Whatever Spock had expected to hear, it hadn't been that. "No, they do not," Spock answered.

A look of relief flashed across the man's face before he nodded and turned back toward the door. But Spock was confused. Why would the doctor ask such a question? Was there something to it? Something important that he should know?

"However," Spock started, prompting Dr. McCoy to pause and turn back around to regard him. "Due to my hybrid physiology, my body is very capable of perspiring. Yet it does not occur often, at least, not as often as it occurs in humans."

McCoy frowned at him and glanced toward his dresser.

"Is there a significance to your question?" Spock found himself asking at the man's expression.

"Have you ever actually had a fever before, Spock?" the doctor blurted out, his eyes never leaving the dresser.

"When I was a small child, I experienced one, however, my memory of it is faulty," Spock answered regrettably. He remembered more of his childhood than a human child would, but there were still some things that were foggy to him. Things that as a full Vulcan…he was sure he would remember.

"Well, usually when a fever breaks, your body sweats. It's sort of the body's way of cooling itself down from being dangerously overheated. They're not the most pleasant thing, and usually it's nothing to worry about, but for you…" McCoy ran a hand through his hair. "It could be dangerous given your naturally low body temperature. It could counteract the medication I just put into your system. I'd imagine that that's a reason why full Vulcans don't sweat. While it's beneficial to us, it's detrimental to you guys."

Spock broke the doctor's gaze and stared ahead at the wall. Of course his body would work against him, like it always seemed to do. "Your concern has merit, Doctor," he answered quietly. In a matter of seconds he had found a whole new reason to hate his body. "What is your suggestion?" he added just as he found the doctor's gaze again.

"If you have a pair of those Starfleet-issued flannels, I suggest that as soon as the fever breaks, put them on and just stay under the blankets until it passes. They will keep you plenty warm, and the goal is to not let your sweat cool on your body. If you can do that, you have nothing to worry about," McCoy answered him confidently before becoming very serious. "But if for _any _reason you start to feel worse, I want you to comm me, Spock. I don't care what time of the day it is. Do you understand?"

Spock found himself nodding. "I do, Dr. McCoy. Thank you," he answered gratefully. Before, he might have been ashamed at being attended to so thoroughly, for a full Vulcan would not require such care. A full Vulcan would not be in his situation to begin with. However, as the doctor stared him down with that concerned gaze, he could not bring himself to feel that shame. He could only bask in the fact that another was concerned for him, and wanted to help him despite his efforts of avoidance. The last healer that had attended to him had only done so out of a debt owed to another, and had made her distaste for Spock known in great detail. The man standing across from him held no distaste, or disgust. The man across only wanted to help him.

"Okay then, Spock. I'll leave you to yourself. I will be back by later this evening to check on you though, and maybe even get you to eat something. Hopefully you'll be feeling better by then," he added before turning around, and leaving the room.

Spock watched him leave through the door before he forced himself up and over to the dresser to retrieve the flannels the man had recommended. He regretted not thinking of them before, and for a moment, he felt the urge to put them on right then as opposed to waiting until his fever broke. But that would not help break said fever. It was not logical to make his body warmer when he was already dangerously warm, despite the fact that he felt like he had been left outside on an ice-planet.

Instead, he took out the pajamas, and set them down on his nightstand. He then laid his body back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He was tired, but after the nightmare he had just had, the last thing he wanted to do was go back to sleep. The last thing he wanted to experience was S'teth's heavy body on top of his.

A familiar itching grasped at his throat, and Spock thought about the cough drops the doctor had left. Normally, he would avoid medications disguised as what humans referred to as 'candy', but at that moment, if they promised relief for his burning throat, he would be amenable to trying them.

Opening the bag, Spock reached inside and brought one out. He inspected the wrapper quizzically before opening it. There was a bright red candy inside that Spock placed in his mouth hesitantly. While he did not find the taste very palatable; for he had never enjoyed sweet things; he could not deny the soothing effect it had on his throat, nor could he ignore the fact that, as long as one of those red candies was in his mouth, he did not cough.

Later at the end of the day, when Dr. McCoy returned to check on him, Spock knew the entire bag would likely be gone.

((oOo))

Kirk had been pacing his room anxiously when the chime sounded at his door. "Jim, it's me," Bones' voice sounded on the other side, prompting Kirk to all but shoot over to the door to let his friend in. Bones had his medical bag with him, and barely spared Kirk a glance when he brushed passed him, and threw himself on his couch. "God Jim, do you have to have it so hot in here? It's almost as bad as Spock's room!" his friend complained, but Kirk paid him no attention as he sat himself down beside him, his gaze imploring.

"Nevermind that Bones. How's Spock?" Kirk cut in with a wave of his hand, ignoring his friend's complaint.

Bones glared at him. "I'm shocked, Jim. It sounds like you actually care about him. Might want to watch that. People might catch on," his friend spat sarcastically. It was no secret that Bones was still angry at him for what happened yesterday.

Kirk stiffened and leaned back. "Of course I care, Bones. I tell you about Spock after all, didn't I? If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even know Spock was sick," he spat.

"Well, after your little outburst yesterday, you could've fooled me. And…I would've found out eventually. I had planned on checking in on him at some point today regardless of what you told me," his friend stated before looking grim. "However, it is a good thing you told me when you did," he added darkly.

Kirk wrinkled his brow as apprehension gripped at him. "Why?"

Bones turned to regard him, his expression appalled. "Jim, he had a ninety-eight degree fever!" he explained in shock, as if such a thing was out of this world.

"And…that's bad I'm guessing?" Kirk answered in bemusement. A ninety-eight degree temperature didn't sound all that bad. Hell, that was considered good in humans.

Bones blinked at him. "Yeah, Jim. That's bad. Vulcans normally run at ninety-one degrees. It's why they require warmer temperatures as opposed to humans. They're a desert species. Their bodies are naturally cooler to compensate for the heat. It's why Spock's quarters are like a sauna, and it's why the cold is more damaging to them."

Kirk's heart panged at the mention of Spock's quarters.

"Ninety-eight degrees to a Vulcan is like one-hundred and four degrees to a human. It's dangerous, and if I had waited much longer, he might have gone into convulsions," Bones went on in disbelief. As if he couldn't believe the state he'd found Spock in.

Kirk mirrored his emotions, and to a much higher degree. "Convulsions?" Kirk gasped and abruptly stood. "And you left him in there? What the hell, Bones?" he yelled and made for the shared bathroom that would lead him into Spock's quarters. All thought of his endeavor to avoid the Vulcan fled his mind. All Kirk could see was the Vulcan convulsing on his bed and in need of immediate medical attention. He could not believe Bones, a fucking doctor, had left him in there in such a state.

He had barely put his hand on the hand-plate when Bones was grabbing him by the shoulder. "Jim! Calm down! He's fine now! Do you honestly think I would leave him in such a dangerous position?" Bones asked in horror.

Kirk halted and turned back, imploring the doctor to explain further.

"I gave him something for the fever, and a steroid to counteract the infection. He'll be fine. But right now, he's probably resting, and the last thing he needs is for you to come barging in and waking him up."

Kirk couldn't argue with that. If Spock was resting, he really didn't want to be the one to wake him up. Especially given their last meeting in the bathroom earlier that morning. Hell, Kirk still felt mad about that. He had only wanted to help Spock, but the Vulcan had shot him down…coldly.

"_What Dr. McCoy had prescribed to me is my business, Captain. And the answer to your offer is no. I do not require your assistance," _Spock had all but spat at him at his offer to help him put the salve on.

Kirk had been so angry about it, that at breakfast, everyone at the table had avoided speaking to him. They had known by the look on his face that he had been upset about something, and that that _something_ had something to do with Spock.

When the Vulcan in question had showed up in the mess hall, he had looked just as horrible as he had that morning in the bathroom. His cheeks had been flushed green, and there had been a heaviness to his step that had not been there the previous day. Kirk had taken care to avoid looking at Spock as he walked right past their table, acquired a meal, and had chosen a table far away from them. The fact that he had chosen to eat alone, as opposed to at the table with the rest of the Alpha-bridge crew, had hurt. A lot.

Apparently, the fact that he had chosen a different table hadn't sat well with Uhura who wasted no time in going over to Spock's table and sitting down beside him. Again, Kirk had envied her for being able to do that. For having the balls to do that.

"Why doesn't the Commander sit here? He always sits with us..." Sulu had commented to Kirk worriedly from across the table as they all stared at the Vulcan and Uhura.

Kirk, whose eyes had been glued to Spock's back, shifted to Sulu's where they had narrowed. "I'm not his keeper, how the hell should I know?" he had spat, making everyone around the table flinch at the harshness in his voice. Feeling like a complete ass, Kirk had averted his gaze back to Spock only to find Uhura back in a standing position, her eyes glaring down at the Vulcan. Obviously, her attempt at engaging Spock in conversation had failed and judging by the stance she had taken, she hadn't been happy about it. For a moment, Spock had caught his eyes, but had looked away just as quickly as he had caught them. That hurt too.

Uhura had barely started to make her way back over to their table when Spock let out an ear splitting cough that caught the attention of the entire mess hall; though everyone tried to act like they hadn't just heard their First Officer hacking his lungs out. It had sounded horrible and painful, and Kirk had racked his brain to remember a time when Spock had ever coughed. He hadn't been able to find one, and that immediately worried him.

Kirk, along with the rest of the room, had watched silently as Spock stood up, leaned over slightly as if he might fall, and abandoned his tray to all but run from the mess hall, his cough going with him and sounding out in the corridor after he disappeared from view. Kirk had resisted the urge to run after him. To make sure he was okay.

Once on the bridge, Kirk had tried hard not to think about Spock or that desolate cough, but it had been easier said that done. The entire morning Kirk had worried about the Vulcan he had once thought of as a friend. He knew Spock avoided sickbay like the plague, and he wouldn't put it past his prideful First Officer to linger in his quarters, and hack his lungs out in solitude if it meant avoiding Bones and his hyposprays. Spock hated attention.

_He's an adult, Jim. An adult who's made it quite clear he doesn't need your help. Let it go. Let him take care of himself, _Kirk had told himself over and over as he sat in his captain's chair, staring nervously out into space. He had told himself that he was going to stop worrying about Spock. That he was going to let the Vulcan figure it out on his own.

But…he just couldn't.

Spock might not have been his friend anymore, but that still didn't mean Kirk could just turn his own feelings off. Besides, he was the captain, wasn't he? And Spock was a part of his crew. If he needed medical attention, was it not within Kirk's duties to make sure he received it? That's what Kirk told himself when, instead of going to lunch, he had gone straight to sickbay and told Bones to go and check on Spock.

Kirk had meant to go back to the bridge, but he had ended up waiting in his quarters for Bones' diagnosis, had even told the doctor to come straight to him after he had tended to Spock. He had just needed to make sure that Spock was going to be alright. He had never known the Vulcan to come down with a cough. In fact, he had never known the Vulcan to come down with _anything_, and he just wanted to make sure that everything was going to be okay.

According to the doctor now standing in front of him, grasping him by the shoulder to keep him from going through the shared bathroom to check on his First Officer, everything _was _okay. Or…as okay as it could be.

"So…he's going to be fine then?" Kirk asked in a small voice, hating how desperate he sounded.

Bones sighed and dropped his hand. "Yeah, Jim. I think he will be now that I've got those medications running through him. I told him that you sent me to check on him, though."

Kirk's eyes widened. "What? Why did you do that, Bones?" he shouted angrily, making the doctor regard him in exasperation.

"Why would I not, Jim!? I want him to know that you don't fucking hate him, that you're still concerned about him!" Bones argued heatedly.

Kirk felt his face flush as he brushed past the doctor and paced the room in fury. "That's just fucking great, Bones. Now he's going to think I'm getting in his business. That I don't trust him to handle his own shit."

"You're his captain, Jim. His health is your business, and he obviously can't handle his own shit because if he could, he would've come to me on his own to take care of that cough before it turned into Acute Bronchitis," Bones rebutted loudly.

"He's not going to see it like that…" Kirk stated softly, but darkly.

For a long moment, Bones just stared at him before rubbing his face tiredly with his hands, and heading toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Jim asked, wondering if he was going back to Spock's quarters. And why should he care? He wasn't supposed to care. He had done his job, he had gotten Spock help. He should be content with that.

But he wasn't.

Bones paused at the door and rounded on him, his eyes full of annoyance. "I'm going back to sickbay, Jim. I've got a job to do," he paused to consider something. "This evening after dinner, I'm going back to check on Spock, to make sure his fever has broken and that he's healing like he should be, and perhaps even get him to eat. Perhaps you should come with me. He might eat with you there. Hell, we could all eat together."

Kirk took a step backward. "I don't think that's a good idea, Bones," he answered quietly, his thoughts going back to the incident in the shared bathroom where Spock had pretty much told him to fuck off in the Vulcan way.

"And why is it not a good idea, Jim? You doing this? You avoiding him like this? It's only going to drive him away. You've got to see that," Bones implored him, almost desperately.

Kirk could see that the doctor just wasn't going to let it go. "I'll think about it, Bones. It's not a yes, but it's not a no either," he answered softly.

Bones leveled his eyes at him, but nodded nonetheless. "That's all I'm askin', kid. That's all I'm askin'," and with that, his friend disappeared through the door with a sigh.

However, when dinnertime came around and passed, and McCoy made his way back to Spock's quarters to check on him, Kirk did not go with him. He just couldn't bring himself to. If Spock needed him, he would have to be the one to make the first move. Kirk had offered so many times now and been rejected, that to be rejected one more time was just too painful to contemplate.

**A.N For those that skipped over the rape scene, it was actually a dream. Spock had a nightmare about S'teth attacking him on the enterprise. I would just love to hear your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! **


	8. The Shadows on My Wall Don't Sleep

**A.N. Hi everyone! I hope the week has been nice. We just got a cold front in today, so it's nice to take a break from the 102 degree weather we've been having the past week. I said that this chapter would be the last one in Arc 1. I lied. The **_**next **_**chapter will be the last chapter in arc 1. It's like everytime I sit down to edit…chapters just keep getting longer and longer and longer. There's just so much I want to say! **

**I want to thank everyone who's taken the time to review. I know you guys have schedules and lives, and it does mean so much to me when you take that extra time to give me your thoughts. I know I lost a reader or two on the last chapter, and while it saddens me, I've gotta keep on truckin'. My stuff is very angsty and graphic, I realize, and hopefully you guys can stick with me till the end despite the emotional turmoil this story is going to be. **

**Now real warnings for this chapter other than angst. I want to thank Rubyhair, Cate Adams, and Coccinelle. All three ladies have been pivotal in the design and structuring of this story and plot. Enjoy! **

**Chapter Eight**

**The Shadows on My Wall Don't Sleep**

Right after his shift ended in sickbay, McCoy grabbed his medical bag and headed to Spock's quarters. He thought about comming Jim and asking him if he had decided on whether or not he was going to join him in checking on the Enterprise's only Vulcan. But something told him that Jim would either ignore the comm, or flat out decline altogether if he did answer it. Either one of those scenarios would do nothing but piss the doctor off, so McCoy decided just to see Spock by himself. If Jim changed his mind…well, he knew where Spock slept. The room right next to him.

Once outside the Vulcan's door, McCoy hit the chime and hoped that Spock wouldn't be asleep. He needed sleep, yes, but McCoy was reluctant to use his override code like he'd done earlier. It had been rather disturbing witnessing Spock having a nightmare. He had always wondered if Vulcans dreamed like humans did, and when he'd walked in earlier only to find the Vulcan thrashing and moaning on the bed against some invisible assailant, he'd gotten his answer.

McCoy had had his own fair share of nightmares throughout his life to feel sympathy. Sympathy enough to ease the Vulcan's suffering and bring him out of whatever horror he had found himself in.

It had taken far longer than was comfortable to wake Spock up, and if he hadn't been sporting a raging fever, McCoy would have been suspicious about the entire thing. However, being a doctor, he knew that nightmares often accompanied the ill, especially when they were running a fever as high as Spock was. That didn't stop him from wondering just what Spock had been dreaming about though. Perhaps he had been dreaming about the destruction of Vulcan, or his mother's death. McCoy had heard through Jim that Spock had been there when it'd happened. McCoy hadn't been able to repress the chill that came over him—to have had to see something like that?

"It's Dr. McCoy, Spock," McCoy spoke through the door just after pressing the chime again, his mind working to file the memory of waking up Spock from his nightmare away. A few long seconds trickled by before the door slid open to reveal Spock standing there in the flannels McCoy had recommended he wear when the fever broke.

_Well, at least that means the fever broke,_ he thought hopefully and his eyes roam up and down the Vulcan, looking for any signs of continued sickness. He still looked beyond tired, and there were still dark green circles under his eyes, but the flush to his skin was gone, which meant that his assumption had been correct; the fever had broken.

"Well, gonna invite me in, Spock? I know we should go to dinner first, but I thought we could pass all of that…" McCoy suggested with an air of amusement given the current situation.

Spock blinked twice, as if he'd been trying his hardest to understand McCoy's statement before stepping aside to finally grant him entrance. Just like before, as soon as McCoy entered he regretted not wearing something short-sleeved, or hell, he regretted wearing at anything at all. Spock's room, as always, was a literal desert. "I see you put on the flannels. Glad to see someone around here takes my advice," he commented drily as he walked over to Spock's desk and set his medical bag down with a thud. He then wrapped his arms around himself and gave off an exaggerated shiver. "Jeeze, Spock. It's cold in here! You sure you got that blasted heat up enough?" he commented sourly, hoping to achieve some sort of rise out of the Vulcan since, obviously, the heat in the room was probably set on the highest setting.

The Spock from before would have come back with some kind sarcastic retort, but the one now kept his silence as he walked over to the bed he'd likely just come out of, judging by the state of disarray it was in, and began to make it.

McCoy took the opportunity to shamelessly observe him before his eyes fell on the bag of cough drops on the nightstand. It had been opened, but he couldn't tell if Spock had tried one or not. "Did you try those cough drops?" he asked casually in an attempt to get the Vulcan to converse. It was awkward, standing there in silence; and Jesus if the Vulcan would just say something! McCoy wasn't sure if this is how it was for Jim whenever these two disappeared together, or—_used_ to disappear together, but if it was, then damn. As sociable a creature as Jim was? He honestly didn't see what his friend saw in Mr. Logical.

Spock smoothed out the comforter of the bed he'd just made before eyeing the cough drop bag. "I did, Dr. McCoy," he answered quietly, yet refused to make eye contact.

McCoy sighed. He hated when Spock didn't elaborate, or worse, when he didn't look at you when he was speaking. "…And? What did you think of them?" McCoy furthered amicably while he opened his medical bag to pull out his tricorder. Perhaps asking the Vulcan his opinion directly would spur a little more…life in the room.

His question was successful, for finally, Spock turned and looked at him, his expression a margin more interested than it had been before. "Surprisingly, I found them quite useful, Doctor," Spock paused and turned his eyes back to the bad, a slight look of shame ghosting across his features that anyone who didn't know the Vulcan would surely have missed. "I regret that I utilized the entire bag, however." Almost guiltily, Spock stepped over to his nightstand and picked up the empty bag as if to confirm that yes, he had consumed every one of them.

Eyebrows thoroughly elevated, McCoy found himself chuckling at the image of Spock going through an entire bag of cough drops, and then feeling guilty about it like a child who'd gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Upon his laughter, Spock turned sharply to look at him. "You are…humored, Doctor?" he asked, and stood up straighter as if preparing himself for all manner of responses.

McCoy resisted the urge to laugh again, given that Spock was talking in that utterly Spockian tone, and in flannel pajamas no less. "I'm just imagining you eating all of those in the expanse of a few hours, Spock."

Spock dipped his head and pursed his lips. McCoy took that as a bad sign, which was how he took most of Spock's expressions when he gave them. It was like walking on eggshells around the Vulcan.

"But seriously, Spock. It's fine. It's probably good you ate them all. At least you gave your body something to digest," McCoy quickly assured him and looked down to fiddle with his tricorder so that he didn't have to witness whatever expression the Vulcan would give to that particular comment. Given the fact that according to Jim, the Vulcan hadn't finished breakfast, it was probably a good thing he'd eaten them all. It wouldn't put back on the thirteen pounds that he'd lost, but it would certainly move him in the right direction. "Do you want another bag?" he found himself offering in all sincerity.

Spock closed his fist around the empty bag before he abruptly disposed of it in the trash dispenser on his wall. McCoy winced at the harshness inflicted in the action. Spock then turned his gaze back on him. "That will not be necessary, Doctor. The cough has passed," he answered placidly, and placed his hands behind his back.

"Let _me_ be the judge of that," McCoy grumbled, and marched hastily over to Spock and brought the tricorder up to scan him. Spock stiffened at the advance, but McCoy didn't notice because he was focused on the readings in front of him. He nodded approvingly as he shifted the device up and down Spock's body. He could still see malnourishment and moderate to severe fatigue ailing the Vulcan, but the Acute Bronchitis was gone.

McCoy let out a breath of relief before fixing his eyes on Spock. "Well, looks like those hypos did the job, Spock. The Bronchitis is gone," he said with a smile and returned to his bag to put his tricorder away.

"I am relieved to hear it, Dr. McCoy. Thank you for your aid," Spock spoke softly before adding almost impatiently, "is there anything else you require?" McCoy knew that was code for, 'you can get the hell out now'. Unfortunately for Mr. Pointy Ears, he wouldn't be shooed out that easily. One perk about being a doctor was people pretty much had to listen to him, whether they liked it or not.

"Actually, there is Spock. I _require_ you to eat something. You've only got one meal showing on your diet card, and I know for a fact that you didn't eat it. And no—," McCoy started just as Spock opened his mouth to interrupt. "Cough drops _do not_ count as a reliable food source. You need to eat an actual meal. Now, come on, get dressed, we can go to the mess hall and get something."

Spock stiffened and raised his chin. McCoy could sense a declination coming on. "I do not require you to accompany me to the mess hall, Doctor. I am quite capable of making the journey without your assistance," he argued stoically with the barest hint of irritation in his voice which was still raspy from the bronchitis.

"I know you're _capable_ Spock, and if I could trust you to actually go there and eat something, I wouldn't feel the need to accompany you."

"I can assure you Dr. McCoy; there is no need to supervise me at meal times. I will go alone."

"I thought you'd pull this," McCoy said bitterly and turned back to his bag. He pulled out a vegetarian nutrition bar and handed it to Spock who took it reluctantly. "I won't make you go to the mess hall tonight because I know you need more rest and you're practically already dressed for bed," McCoy started as he eyed Spock's blue flannels. He saw the barest hint of a blush come over the Vulcan. "But starting tomorrow, I better see you down there at breakfast. You're supposed to be recuperating this week, and if I don't see improvement, I won't be able to put you back on duty, and you understand what will happen if I have to keep giving you weeks off right?"

Spock glanced down at his feet uncharacteristically. "I…do, Dr. McCoy," he stated before bringing his sunken in eyes back up to face him. For a moment, McCoy was taken aback by the sheer vulnerability in those eyes. A vulnerability that hadn't been there before.

Gathering himself, McCoy feigned a tired sigh to mask his unease at Spock's moment of emotionalism, and stepped slightly closer to him. He painfully ignored the way the Vulcan took a step backward "I don't want to declare you unfit for duty, Spock, because that kind of shit goes on your record. But if I see you ignoring meals, and if you keep losing weight, I might have to. Do you understand?" McCoy asked him imploringly.

Spock blinked at him and dropped his eyes. It was yet another new thing about Spock. He never dropped his eyes in the midst of conversation. He either didn't look at you at all, or he kept eye-contact. "I understand, Doctor."

McCoy stared at him, desperate to know what Spock was really thinking. He had the strongest impulse just to shake the fucking Vulcan by the shoulders until he got some real answers, but he quelled it. For one thing, if he did that, Spock would likely put him flat on his ass, and he liked his ass how it was at the moment. "Okay then, Spock," he settled for in a resigned voice. "I guess I'll leave you, then. If you feel any of those symptoms from earlier starting to creep back up, you tell me. I might have given you hypos, but you could still relapse," McCoy finished firmly, grabbed his bag, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and headed to the door.

"Understood, Doctor."

"Good night, Spock. I'll see you in the morning."

As soon as McCoy was back in the corridor, he briefly considered using his override code to go in and waylay Jim for not coming with him to see Spock. At least Jim might have been more successful in getting Spock to go eat something in the mess hall. There was nothing wrong with nutrition bars, but they weren't meant to be the only staple in a diet, especially a Vulcan diet that had already been chronically lacking. Spock needed real food, not fucking bars.

He could have pushed Spock. He could have made it a medical order, but looking at the pitiful shell of a Vulcan in that room had made him go soft. He knew it would only embarrass Spock if he ordered him to go to the mess hall and eat under the supervision of his doctor; and given the fact that Spock and McCoy _were not_ friends, if people saw them both eating alone together, McCoy had no doubts that they would assume he was doing just that; supervising the Vulcan.

However, if Spock kept avoiding his meals, McCoy would have to do just that, and he didn't look forward to if and when that moment finally came.

((oOo))

The next morning found Spock getting up and heading to the mess hall an hour earlier than he had yesterday. Perhaps if he went earlier, he could spare himself from the crowd as well as Jim or Dr. McCoy. Plus, the nightmare he had had earlier in the night pushed him to flee his room, if only for a an hour. S'teth could not haunt him in public.

On his way there, he was relieved to encounter very few people being that it was still so early on the ship. Due to the two hours of sleep he _had _managed to attain, his migraine had dulled down into a headache and perhaps he could keep it that way if he could avoid as much interaction as possible with members of the crew. He hoped that by the end of his week of ordered rest, his shields would be somewhat reestablished, and he could focus on his duties again.

If he could find something to focus on again, perhaps he could start to get over his time spent on Altriri IV. Maybe if his shields were back, he could even attempt to repair his relationship with Nyota. He missed not having someone to converse with. He missed not having someone to talk to. As he waiting in the turbo-lift, Spock wondered if perhaps he could eventually repair his relationship with Jim.

Just as Spock had predicted, the mess hall was nearly empty save for a few people scattered about eating an early breakfast. A few officers nodded to him and bid him 'good morning' as he walked past them and up to the replicators. He nodded back, muttered a few greetings of his own, and proceeded to acquire a meal. He still wasn't hungry, but the doctor had told him that he was monitoring his diet card. Therefore, Spock had little choice but to eat something. He did not relish being kept off duty for another week. The Vulcan had no doubt that as soon as he slipped back into his routine and returned to his station on the bridge, everything would start to go back to normal. Duty would outweigh everything else. He was sure of it.

Spock's routine had always been important to him. He told himself that because he had gotten so far away from it, everything else in his life was suffering as a result. He told himself as he sat down at an empty table, another bowl of Plomeek soup on his tray, that his meditation schedule, his mental shields, his nightmares, and his overwhelming paranoia would balance themselves out once he settled back into his routine. A routine was everything to a Vulcan.

That's what he told himself.

Yet, he couldn't help but wonder just what he would do if he came to find out that his routine…_didn't_ help him.

What would he do then? How would he function as the First Officer and Chief Science Officer onboard the Enterprise if he could not even stand being in a crowded mess hall? If he could not even remove his clothing in the privacy of his quarters without tensing and anticipating an attack?

_Do not think about it, Spock. It is not logical to worry about something that might not even come to pass, _he told himself as he dipped his spoon in the bowl and brought the soup to his mouth. It tasted unusually bland to him, but he forced himself to eat it anyway. He needed to gain weight or McCoy would not clear him for duty. However, he could only manage six small bites before he picked the tray up and brought it to the waste dispenser. He had eaten some of it. That was good enough.

When he turned to leave, he witnessed Jim coming through the doors by himself, his face lined with fatigue. It seemed that Spock was not the only one missing sleep. Apparently, Jim had decided to come early as well. Spock couldn't help but think that the captain had only done so for one of the same reasons Spock had; to avoid interacting with him.

Jim had obviously come early in hopes of missing Spock, and if the sudden loss of color on Jim's face as well as the avoided eye-contact was anything to go off of, the captain was disappointed that his plan had failed.

Being that Spock was leaving, and Jim was entering, the Vulcan had no choice but to walk toward the captain to get to the exit. The other option was to stand there, stupidly in the middle of the mess hall, and that was something he would rather avoid.

Just as Spock was about to be within five feet of him though, Jim abruptly diverted his direction to speak to a pair of ensigns sitting at the table just beside him. The ensigns looked startled by the fact that Captain Kirk had abruptly interrupted them, and engaged them in casual conversation for no reason at all, but were all too happy to let Jim speak. Spock however, couldn't repress the hurt that the action elicited. For there was no doubt in the Vulcan's mind that the only reason Jim had done that was so that he wouldn't have to speak to Spock, should Spock have attempted to spur a conversation.

Spock should be elated that Jim was going out of his way to avoid him because it saved him the trouble of doing it himself, but witnessing him be so deliberate about it was harder to accept than he imagined it would be. Suddenly, the headache he had became a migraine, and Spock quickened his pace toward the exit. He shouldn't be feeling these feelings. They were illogical. Yet, he could not stop himself from feeling them. He missed Jim's companionship. He missed meeting the human for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He missed the chess games. He missed Jim.

When lunchtime arrived, Spock stayed in his quarters. When dinner came and went, again, Spock stayed in his quarters. He had no appetite to speak of, but that wasn't the reason he avoided the mess hall for the rest of the day. The migraine that had started just after breakfast had not left him, and had reached such a high level of intensity that just _moving_ his head caused Spock a high degree of pain.

His head was in such agony that there had almost been a moment where Spock had considered sending a subspace message to his father to inquire for his advice on what to do to stop it. After all, Spock had no doubts that whatever was afflicting him had been caused by the High Priest, and surely a Vulcan healer would know how to proceed. However, Spock had quashed that idea as soon as it had come to him. He could not tell his father about his consistent migraines. He could not permit a Vulcan healer to share his mind and see what lingered there. The consequences would be too great. Despite the agonizing pain that prodded and stabbed at him throughout the day, Spock had resolved not to utter a single word about it.

He also could not seek out the aid of Dr. McCoy or Dr. M'Benga on the matter, as they would likely wish to delve further into the issue, which in turn would require more testing. Spock also had no doubts that one of those two doctors would seek the advice of a Vulcan healer, and again, the truth would be discovered. He would have to try—_and hope—_that he could correct the problem on his own in due time. That's all he needed. Time. Time to heal and move on from Altriri IV. Human's had a saying that time healed all wounds. If there was ever a human philosophy Spock wished to put faith in, it was that one.

However, for now, Spock hoped that meditation, and not time, would provide him the mental relief he yearned for so much. Despite his frequent attempts at meditation throughout the day though, Spock could not rid himself of the migraine. It lingered like a shadow, constantly reminding him of what he had done on that planet. Perhaps it was a just punishment. Perhaps he deserved this pain given what he had allowed himself to do. Several times Spock had to resist the urge to put himself back under the cold spray of water in the shared bathroom to numb the pain. That idea was lost to him as well, though. As appealing as it was, Spock could not permit himself to become sick again with Bronchitis, or something more severe.

At 1930 hours, Spock had long given up the attempt at meditation and had already bundled himself up in his bed. He still donned the flannels, for they provided him an extra layer of warmth that his regular sleep wear could not adequately supply. Plus, the thickness of them made him feel…better protected. It was an illogical feeling, he knew, but he could not stop himself from taking comfort in it when his world at the moment was so devoid of comforts he had once experienced.

The room had been utterly quiet for almost five minutes when his communicator went off, and the loudness of the chirping sound made Spock wince a fraction since the device was on his nightstand.

Sighing, Spock reached an arm over and opened it. "Spock here," he answered in as clear a voice as he could manage. Not talking to anyone all day would make anyone's voice raspy and hoarse.

"Do you want to explain to me, Spock, why your diet card only shows one meal for today? A meal that you probably didn't even eat?" the irritated voice of Dr. McCoy sounded from the other side. Spock inwardly sighed at the revelation of who it was. He had been hoping that maybe…

But then again, it was illogical to hope.

For a brief moment, Spock didn't answer. He honestly had no explanation to give that would satisfy the doctor.

A disembodied, aggravated sigh came through as a result of his prolonged silence. "I'm not talking just to hear myself talk, Spock."

Spock resisted the urge to sigh himself. The human's voice did not do his migraine any favors. "I have spent the majority of the day in meditation, Dr. McCoy. I did not have time to journey to the mess hall to ingest sustenance that was not needed," he answered crisply.

"Not needed? Are you kidding me right now? Did you magically gain back those thirteen pounds or something?" McCoy blurted loudly, making Spock pull the communicator away from him to distance himself from the sound.

Actually permitting himself to sigh this time, Spock sat himself up and swung his legs out from underneath the various blankets (one had simply not been enough). It seemed his attempt at sleep was over. "You forget, Doctor, that Vulcans do not require as much sustenance as humans," he argued with a bit more hostility than he had intended.

McCoy snorted. "_Healthy _Vulcans don't, Spock. But you're not exactly running on all circuits right now."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Running on all circuits, Doctor?" he stalled, hoping that the inferred need for clarification on the human idiom would distract the human.

"Don't change the subject, Spock."

Obviously, his attempt at distraction was a failure.

"You know what I mean," McCoy continued knowingly. "I've already explained to you how important it is to get that weight back on. If your body stays at that mass too long—or God forbid if you should lose even _more_ body mass—eventually the rest of your biological systems are going to be forced to compensate. Your body _will_ attack itself to get the nutrients and energy it needs from being in such a large calorie deficit. That Vulcan metabolism you boast so much about is going to take a big hit if it hasn't already," the doctor paused and sighed again. "_Everything_ is going to be affected by this, Spock, and I _know_ you know that. You've got to start eating. Like yesterday," he finished in exasperation.

Spock rubbed at his temples; his own form of expressing exasperation. "I am aware of the adaptive biochemical and physiological changes that occur as a direct result of being malnourished, Doctor. I do not require you to recite a lecture on the matter," he spat bitterly, and was surprised by the amount of animosity he had allowed to come into the sentence. He was obviously much more tired than he had first ascertained.

There was a lengthy pause on the doctor's end, and for a moment, Spock wondered if perhaps he had cut the connection. It certainly would not be an unexpected action from him. Finally though, McCoy's sullen voice came barreling back through. "As long as I'm the CMO on this ship, and you're my patient, you'll endure every last lecture I have to give you, _Commander_. Now, I want you to march your green-blooded ass down to that mess hall and eat something," McCoy barked in a dangerous voice, and Spock could only imagine the glare that the human must have been sporting from wherever he was utilizing his communicator.

Spock flinched at the menacing voice and just who it sounded like. It bothered him that he actually had to put forth an effort not to comply with the doctor's orders immediately.

"I have already retired for the night, Dr. McCoy," Spock answered apathetically. He had no intentions of venturing to the mess hall with a migraine like this.

"So _un-_retire, Spock. It's barely 7:30, dinner just started an hour ago…"

"Negative," Spock answered immediately, for that was all the more reason why he _didn't_ wish to go. All those minds interweaving with his? He knew that if it came down to it, Dr. McCoy _could_ for all intents and purposes force him to journey to the mess hall in the name of medical necessity, but that didn't mean that Spock wasn't going to put up a fight. He was so tired of not being able to fight.

"Dammit, you stubborn-ass Vulcan!" the man boomed loudly, and again, Spock winced at the sheer volume emitted out of the tiny device. "You know I can make it an order, right?" McCoy added a second later, making Spock close his eyes with dread. Of course he knew. However, he had been hoping the doctor would spare him from such a thing.

"I am aware, Dr. McCoy."

Another lengthy sigh, and Spock braced himself for the inevitable medical order that would send him to the mess hall where he would inevitably have to endure the emotional minds of others. It was odd how fearful such a casual prospect sounded to him.

"Okay, Spock. I'll make a deal with you," McCoy finally breathed out. Spock raised an eyebrow despite it going unseen, and the man continued. "I won't make you go tonight. The last thing I want to do is have it go on your record that I had to order you to the mess hall to eat." Spock inwardly cringed at such a thing. The doctor was correct of course. It _would_ go on his record. "However, I will only do that on _one _condition; that you go with me in the morning and eat a legitimate meal, in front of me. I want to make sure you're eating, and it's sad that it's come down to me actually watching you eat a damn meal, but you've left me no choice. For all I know, you're going to the mess hall, ordering food, and throwing it away."

"I find it offensive that you would believe me to be capable of doing something so illogical," Spock spat, despite the fact that he had done that very thing earlier that morning.

"Honestly, Spock? I'm not sure what you're capable of doing, but I've got to make sure you're eating. This is the only way I can think of doing it aside from bringing your ass into sickbay, and sticking a feed line in you. Now, which is it gonna be?" McCoy furthered sternly.

"Doctor, it is unnecessary to accompany me to the mess ha—," Spock began to protest, the idea of being _accompanied_ to the mess hall unbearably embarrassing, for people would no doubt speculate.

"Those are my terms, Spock," McCoy cut him off firmly. "I either order you to go tonight, or you go with me in the morning on your own free will. Take it or leave it."

For a moment, Spock felt a surge of hatred for the doctor, a hatred that was completely unfounded and shocked him in its intensity. S'teth had also given Spock options; options that would undoubtedly be severely unbalanced in terms of which would should be chosen—or which he would want to choose. S'teth, to, had given Spock a choice by using something he held of value over him. Much like McCoy was doing now. Only, instead of the Federation treaty and Jim's Captaincy on the line, it was his permanent record this time. Spock _hated_ McCoy for using this strategy, and the hate was completely unwarranted and illogical, for the man was just performing his duty as the CMO. It made him feel ashamed; ashamed that he could be permit himself to feel such a hostile emotion for a man that simply wished to help him.

Taking a deep breath, Spock pushed the hatred away and to the place where he had been attempting to contain all of his hostile emotions surrounding the High Priest and the Admiral as of late. He did not want to include Dr. McCoy into the same group as them, but for the moment, there was nothing for it.

Once the hatred had subsided, Spock weighed his options. If he grit his teeth and went tonight, he could do so alone, and not be forced to consume a meal in front of the ship's doctor. However, he would undoubtedly be going at the busiest time, he was severely tired, his head throbbed fiercely, and on top of all of those negative points, Spock knew without a doubt that Jim would likely be there.

If he went tomorrow morning, he will have had the night to possibly rid himself of the migraine, and perhaps he could convince the doctor to attend early before the crowd gathered. There was still a chance Jim would arrive, as had happened that morning, but it was chance he would have to take.

"I will accompany you at 0530 hours tomorrow morning, Dr. McCoy. That is when I plan on attaining sustenance," Spock stated with a hint of finality. Just to make sure he did not run into Jim, he would make the meal even earlier.

"5:30 in the morning? Seriously, Spock? You can't pick…I don't know, a _normal _time?"

"The time I have specified is a perfectly normal time, Doctor. I do not see the dilemma," Spock retorted.

An irritated sigh sounded. "Of course you don't. I'm sure that outrageous time frame has nothing to do with you wanting to avoid the captain," McCoy inferred knowingly.

"Pardon?" Spock quipped, his voice cracking slightly.

"Nevermind, Spock. 5:30 is fine. I'll meet you in the Mess. You'd better bring your appetite because I have good mind to order your breakfast, and you _will_ eat it all. Goodnight," and with that, the connection was terminated. Spock held the communicator in his hands for another 4.2 minutes before putting it back on the nightstand and getting back into bed. Before he would have ordered the lights at zero percent, but ever since his nightmares had started, Spock found it illogically difficult to turn the light off.

((oOo))

The next morning proved to be even more tiring than the previous day. In fact, the entire time Spock was preparing himself for breakfast, time passed…oddly to him. It was as almost as if he was still sleeping, but not. More than once he wondered if he was possibly dreaming, like he had done when he imagined S'teth to be in his room.

As soon as that suspicion had crossed his mind, Spock had not been able to stop himself from feeling on edge the rest of the time he was getting ready. To him, at any time, the priest could come barging into the room—his subconscious—and attack him.

It was a bizarre feeling, this _fear_ that Spock could not process or understand. Before Altriri IV, he had believed fear to be one universal emotion caused by impending danger to one's person. A purely controllable response. However, over the course of the last few weeks, Spock had come to experience many types of fear, and to his shame, he had not been able to control even one of them. He experienced fear over one's safety, over another's safety, fear of the mind, fear of dreams, fear of sleep, fear of knowledge, and the fear of knowing. All of these differing types of fear he did not think he would ever be able to understand. Perhaps Jim would understand, but again, that option was closed to him.

Fear was not logical, yet Spock found himself coated in it almost every day. If he did not fear the priest, he feared Jim, and what would most assuredly happen should he find out the truth. He feared his father and his reaction if he should become knowledgeable to Spock's illegal, distasteful deeds. He feared his people for largely the same reasons, and he feared himself. That was also a new sub-species of fear that he found bizarrely confusing; the fear of one's self. He wondered and feared everyday what else he might be capable of doing given what he had done with the priest.

_"Honestly, Spock? I'm not sure what you're capable of doing," _Dr. McCoy had told him over the communicator. Obviously, he wasn't the only one unsure of his motives or possible actions.

He had never imagined he could be afraid of himself…but he was, and it was disturbing to him.

Spock told himself throughout the rest of his morning preparation that he just needed to obtain nourishment. Perhaps if he actually finished a meal, his fear would be easier to process and catalogue. Perhaps with the added energy from consuming a food source, Spock might even be able to meditate.

Once he was ready, Spock tiredly exited his quarters, and was eternally grateful that he _had not_ suffered a dream or hallucination involving the large Altririan. He spared the cabin next to his a longing glance, wondering if Jim was up and about yet, and going through his own morning rituals. Quickly, Spock shook his head to quell the painful thought and made his way to the turbo-lift. He had not gotten any sleep after his conversation with McCoy, and it showed in his sloppy, unVulcan gait.

Unfortunately, the corridors seemed to be rather crowded despite the early time, which meant Spock garnered a numerous amount of bemused stares. All along the corridor Spock kept his face neutral despite the onslaught of foreign emotions weaving in with his own. Most of which were concern and confusion at the sight of him. Did he really look that detestable?

As the looks grew in number, it seemed that Spock could not approach the lift fast enough. With a cat-like speed, Spock shot into the turbolift and ordered the doors closed before the group of science ensigns—some of which Spock knew from the labs—could come inside with him.

Just before the doors closed on their faces, he caught sight of their expressions of irritation and anger for having been denied the chance to get inside when there had still been plenty of room. Spock felt a stab of guilt for prolonging their schedules, but it could not be helped. He did not think he could stand being in such close proximity with them and _still _keep his face impassive.

Now that the doors had shut, and he was in the privacy of the turbo-lift, Spock permitted his thin, tired body to lean heavily against the wall out of sheer exhaustion. He leaned his head back so that his eyes stared at the white ceiling above him. The migraine had not gone away, but thankfully it had dulled somewhat over the night. Hopefully, the doctor would be calm and collected so as to make this breakfast excursion easier. However, knowing Dr. McCoy, the man would likely not be _calm _or _collected_.

Spock had become so consumed with the act of leaning against the wall that when the turbo-lift doors opened, Spock had not realized it. Instead, he continued to lean there, head peering at the ceiling as thought upon thought raced throughout his mind of what his future held. If he wasn't thinking about Altriri IV, or Jim, he was thinking about his future. He was thinking about what he would do if he could not get the migraines to subside; if he could not erect his shields again. What would be the next step? A Vulcan always had a plan of action, and he had nothing.

A strong surge of concern and confusion nipped at his mind, effectively making him wince as his dead shields attempted to rise out of instinct to push them out. Once again though, they failed spectacularly, and he couldn't keep himself form grabbing his temple with one of his hands.

A moment later, the source of the foreign emotions sounded from the entrance to the turbo-lift. "Uh, Commander? Are you alright?" the familiar voice of Hikaru Sulu asked hesitantly as he stepped inside, his emotions hugging Spock closer as he did so. It seemed that it was worse with people he knew well, or worked with on a routine basis. It seemed it was harder to keep their emotions from causing him pain.

If Mr. Sulu's emotions were eliciting this kind of response from him, what would that mean for Dr. McCoy? Or the rest of the bridge crew for that matter when he went back on duty? Was his problem getting worse, perhaps?

Despite all of his internal panic, Spock immediately pulled himself off of the wall, ignoring the way his body protested the loss of support, stood impossibly straight, and held his head high as the helmsman walked further inside, his wary eyes never leaving Spock's now impassive gaze. "I am adequate, Mr. Sulu," Spock responded professionally, and placed his hands behind his back. Sulu narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as he wasn't sure he believed Spock. The errant feeling of suspicion coming from him only confirmed it.

They stood standing there for a few moments, regarding one another in awkward silence when Sulu began shuffling his feet as if he wanted to say something. It was at that moment that Spock remembered that this was his stop, and he felt stupid for not realizing it earlier. "If you will excuse me," he ended shortly before exiting the turbo-lift and leaving behind a slightly flabbergasted Sulu. Fortunately, when door slid shut, so did the link to the emotions. Spock could have sighed in relief as the added pain disappeared, but that relief ended as he walked into the mess hall, an angry McCoy standing there with his hands on his hips.

"Good morning, Dr. McCoy," Spock decided to greet, ignoring the irritated expression on the man's face, and Spock could feel it, he _was _irritated. Only this time Spock managed to mask the pain since he was prepared for it. With Sulu, he had not been prepared, and as a result the helmsman had seen him in a compromising position. He would consider himself fortunate if the human did not inform his Captain of the entire exchange.

"Don't _good morning_ me, mister. What the hell happened to meeting at 5:30?" McCoy spat.

Spock raised his eyebrows in genuine confusion before permitting his eyes to scan the room. It _was _certainly crowded for such an early time. Perhaps that was why he had met Sulu in the turbo-lift. The human had obviously been here long enough to finish his breakfast, and take his leave. Had he…miscalculated? Quickly, Spock attempted to discern the correct time by way of his internal clock. However, he could not, and that was disturbing.

Doing his best not to show the panic on his face, Spock stared evenly at the doctor. It was obvious that it was not 1530 hours as he had previously ascertained which would make the large amount of people he had passed through the corridors easily explainable. He had come late.

Spock had never once been late to anything in his entire life.

"I…apologize, Dr. McCoy. I had not…" Spock paused and wondered how he should word his explanation without bringing further attention to himself. Also, he needed the pause to collect himself before his own emotions betrayed him. It was almost unheard of for a Vulcan to lose track of the time. How late was he? How much time had he allowed to pass? "I had not intended to keep you waiting. I lost track of the time," he finally admitted and averted his gaze to over the man's shoulder. He did not wish to watch McCoy's eyes fill with the worry that the man was currently sending over to him unknowingly. However, Spock ended up looking sharply at the floor when his eyes landed on ice-blue ones seated a few tables away.

Jim. Jim was looking right at him, his own expression one of worry. And sure enough, despite there being a fair amount of people in-between them, Spock could _feel_ Jim's worry for him from across the room. It was painful, and Spock felt an immense wave of regret at the fact that he had not just satisfied the doctor's wishes last night and acquired a meal. If he had, he would not currently be in such a predicament.

"Spock," McCoy started again, only this time his voice was devoid of all irritation. "Spock, it's not like you to lose time like that," he went on so quietly that even Spock had to strain to hear him in the noisy room.

Spock snapped his eyes back up and focused in on the doctor. "It is of no consequence, Dr. McCoy. I recommend that we proceed to the replicators and obtain our meals. The sooner that is finished, the sooner I can complete my mandatory meal under your observation and retreat back to my quarters. I am in need of meditation," Spock bit out coldly, and watched impassively as the doctor flinched underneath the harshness. His face, for a moment, appeared oddly vulnerable before a scowl took its place.

"Fine, after you then," McCoy offered with an exaggerated wave of his hand. Spock didn't need to be told twice.

((oOo))

"What the hell is that?" McCoy asked in disgust as Spock ordered a small apple and nothing else.

"It would appear to be a _Malus Domestica _of the family _Rosaceae,_" Spock answered thinly and narrowed his eyes_."_Or, in your terminology, an _apple_, Doctor. I was under the assumption that this is a suitable breakfast item," he finished with a glare.

McCoy huffed and snatched the apple out of his hand. Spock fought the urge to blush when the people around them began shooting them curious glances. No one had ever taken food from him in such a way, and it made him feel illogically like a child. He no doubt appeared that way to the crew as well. Briefly, Spock's eyes wandered to Jim and immediately he looked back at the doctor, for Jim was still staring at him, expression unreadable. Spock fought the shame and embarrassment that not only was a margin of the crew witnessing the scene, but so was his captain.

"It's not a suitable breakfast item for you, Spock. You need to eat more than this. Get something else. Something preferably with more carbs, and more calories. Nothing too greasy."

"I do not ingest _grease_, Dr. McCoy," Spock answered placidly while he begrudgingly turned back to the replicator. If there were not so many people watching—including Jim—he would have argued further. There was a reason he chose the apple. It was small. Anything that Dr. McCoy was going to approve of, would not be.

After three replicated, and inevitably trashed dishes, Spock finally replicated one to the Doctor's standards. A hefty bowl of oatmeal, and two tablespoons of peanut butter. Apparently, the oatmeal would be easy on his stomach which was still probably unaccustomed to large, hearty meals, and the peanut butter would help provide him the healthy fats his body needed for brain function. Together, they would provide his body an ample amount of protein since most of those options were unavailable to him being he was a vegetarian.

"There. Now that's a meal we can both agree upon," McCoy commented in satisfaction as he replicated himself an _apple _of all things, for what Spock assumed was his own breakfast. The Vulcan eyed the apple with distaste, and the doctor followed his line of vision, sighed, and walked off into the throng of varying tables. "Hey. I said it wasn't suitable for you, not me. I'm not the malnourished one here. Now let's go sit down and get this over with. I've got better things to do," he finished irritably.

Spock, who had been walking behind McCoy, faltered slightly at the declaration. Of course, he knew that the doctor and he did not get along well, but he couldn't help errant wave of hurt that the words caused deep within him. Without the company of Jim, or Nyota, Spock couldn't help but feel unbearably lonely. Dr. McCoy had provided a buffer of sorts to that loneliness. Even though the majority of the conversations were spent expressing complaints or concerns, the human had at least been someone to speak to.

At that moment though, when the Vulcan realized that even the doctor would rather not be around him, Spock could not help the oppressing sadness that overcame him. In a matter of seconds, the Enterprise had really and truly begun to feel like the ship it had been a year ago; a vessel and nothing more, and he couldn't even mourn such a feeling because he had brought it on himself. He should be elated, for if no one wished to be around him, no one would find out his secret. He would keep them safe, but at what cost? At what point was the cost too high?

If what had happened on Altriri IV was anything to go off of, then Spock knew without a doubt that there was no cost too high as long as somewhat innocent did not suffer as a result. Had he suffered? Yes, but he was far from an innocent.

"I will endeavor to be quick, Dr. McCoy. I do not wish to inconvenience your schedule," Spock muttered quietly as he brought his eyes off of his tray of food and paled when he noticed that McCoy was leading him to Jim's table. Jim hadn't failed to notice this either, and had gone considerably pale at their approach.

"Doctor," Spock cut in quietly, but firmly as he came up beside him. "I request that we sit at a different location," he finished, and hoped that Jim could not hear him.

McCoy paused and stared at him. "There's nothing wrong with that table, Spock. We—_you —_always sit there. Now come on—,"

"I must insist, Dr. McCoy, that we find another seating arrangement. One that is preferably empty," Spock interrupted him in a slightly louder tone of voice so as to impress upon the man his wish _not_ to sit at that table. McCoy looked at him strangely and then sadly as he read between the lines.

A surge of hurt invaded his mind and was quickly followed by an audible clang of silverware being thrust back into a bowl. Spock knew who the hurt belonged to. Jim had obviously heard his last statement.

A wave of anger joined the hurt, which was quickly turning into anger as well; but instead of Jim being the source; it was instead coming from Nyota, who was sitting a few chairs down from Jim. Spock looked away from the doctor to peer at her, and saw in her eyes that she was furious with him.

"It's fine, _Commander," _Jim started bitterly, his eyes pointed downward as he began collecting his dishes._ "_I'm all finished here anyway. Wouldn't want to encroach upon your meal," he paused as if to consider something, and in the meantime, Nyota, Lt. Chekov, and another member of the bridge crew by the name of Lt. Mckenna all began gathering their trays as well.

"Plus," Jim finally went on, catching Dr, McCoy's eyes as he did so, "I'd probably just distract Bones, who's supposed to be babysitting you anyway, right Bones? Make sure he eats all of his greens and what not?"

The anger and hurt had become so palpable in Jim that every word was physically painful to listen to. Errantly, Spock wondered which emotion was more prominent, and, if he really wanted to know.

"Jim…" McCoy said darkly, but quietly. It was obvious that he did not want to bring the attention of the entire mess hall onto them. Jim obviously didn't want that either, for he never once raised his voice, not that Spock needed him too. His emotions were loud enough. Apparently feeling awkward with the direction that the conversation was taking, Nyota spared Spock one last glance, which looked strangely sympathetic, before urging the other two men on to the waste area to dispose of their trays. Spock was grateful for that.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Bones. I'm not going to attack him or anything despite the fact that he acts like I might," Jim countered his friend with a dismissive wave. Spock didn't fail to notice that throughout this entire conversation, Jim had not once looked at him. It was if he did not exist. "Just make sure he finishes his breakfast," Jim continued, and Spock dared hope that it was voiced out of concern. However, the captain's next words shut that down. "I can't have a sick First Officer on the Bridge. It's not…logical," he ended sarcastically, and this time, let his eyes ghost across Spock's before he abruptly turned and left the table.

Spock stood staring after him, going over the conversation in his head. Logically, it was just the kind of conversation he should be satisfied with. He had literally cleared a table with his mere presence. His plan at avoidance had worked, and his secret would be that much harder to uncover as a result.

But, logic aside, he felt ten times worse than he had before he had walked into the mess hall. Jim it seemed was slipping further and further away from him, and he could not even permit himself to feel sorrow or despair without feeling guilty as well. Guilty for having caused that slip.

"Well, you might as well take a seat, Spock. You wanted an empty table, you got it," McCoy encouraged gruffly, and let his tray drop unceremoniously down onto the table. Despite the action causing pain, Spock sifted through the varying emotions coming from the doctor, looking for any that mirrored the captain's. There was hurt there, irritation, anger, and confusion, but Spock could not discern if they were directed at him or the captain. From Spock's time on board the Enterprise, he had come to assume that Dr. McCoy and Jim shared a close relationship. It would not be surprising if the doctor's emotions were directed at him, and not Jim.

"Spock. Sit down," McCoy added impatiently when he realized the Vulcan had not moved.

"Yes," Spock answered in monotone as he slid into the seat across from McCoy who was staring at him strangely. Perhaps it had been the agreeable response to the doctor's request; a response he had learned how to give time and time again on another planet. How easy it was to revert back to habits which had been learned out of necessity just by the mere inflection in a word or sentence when he wasn't focused on it.

"Spock, don't listen to Jim. He really doesn't mean to be an asshole. He's just…he's just…"

"He is the Captain of this ship, Doctor. I am bound to listen to him. You need not speak on his behalf," Spock stated firmly, and picked up his spoon. The sooner he consumed this meal in front of him, the sooner he could be rid of the _man_ in front of him, and go back to the solitude of his quarters. Nightmares or no nightmares.

"No, that's where you're wrong, Spock. You don't have to listen to that shit. Jim is just stressed. He's stressed at Command. He's stressed by the attitude you keep shoveling around, the one where you keep trying to avoid us with that tight lip of yours," McCoy started in a desperate tone of voice which demanded Spock's attention. "He wants to help. Hell, we _all _want to help you, but you just keep pushing everyone away, Spock!" he finished in a hissed whisper.

Spock leveled his eyes and sat up rigidly. "Perhaps if you would attempt to word your sentences in a logical and comprehensible form, I could understand them. Until that time, I request that you do your job, Doctor, and keep out of my personal affairs. They do not concern you. The only thing that concerns you is whether or not I finish this meal in front of me. My relationship with the captain is not your concern. You assume that I am required to express some form of emotional attachment to my fellow crewmembers and my superior officer. You are incorrect. I am Vulcan. I do not form emotional attachments. I am here to perform my duty as First Officer and Chief Science Officer aboard this ship. Now, baring that I do not pass whatever physical you conjure up in the coming week, the state of my personal life is to remain that—_personal,_" Spock finished in as formidable a voice he could manage.

For the first time that Spock could ever remember, and he could remember everything, the doctor was speechless. The emotions being exhibited from him could be identified in one word: shock. Briefly, Spock thought of the last couple of days where McCoy had helped him, had been nice to him, had given him cough drops. All of that would likely end after this single meal if he worded everything correctly.

"All that I require from you is that you sit there in silence, and observe me finishing this meal. Beyond that, we have nothing logical to discuss." As soon as the last word left his mouth, Spock dropped his gaze down to his oatmeal, picked up his spoon and piled as much oatmeal onto it as he could. His appetite was non-existent, and actually the thought of food made him nauseas at the moment, but the sooner he finished, the sooner he could leave.

The rest of the meal, Dr. McCoy did not say a thing.

After breakfast, which had been the quickest breakfast Spock had ever eaten, Dr. McCoy left his company without another word. Spock was grateful. He didn't feel like speaking. At that moment, he only wanted to get back to his quarters as quickly as possible. The migraine in his head had gotten steadily worse over the course of the meal to the point where it was becoming increasingly difficult to mask the pain on his face, and, there was unbearable churning in his stomach. He should have known better than to eat so quickly.

People glanced worriedly at him as he paraded through the corridors, his face tense and determined, but he paid them no attention. It seemed that he'd become accustomed to such expressions from the crew, and he honestly was in too much pain to be concerned about it at the moment.

Once back in his quarters, he had barely made it three steps when a warm sensation began trailing down his lip. He knew from experience what it was. His nose was bleeding again. Everything about him was falling apart and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He felt an urge to call Dr. McCoy, to ask him if there was anything—_anything _he might have that would quell his nosebleed, his migraines, his pain.

But he couldn't. As much as he wished to, if only to end the fear he felt at his body bleeding out of an orifice for some unknown reason, he could not under any circumstances inform the doctor of his ailment. All he could hope, as he scrambled into the bathroom, locked the doors and began to clean his face, was that his nose wouldn't start bleeding in public. However, the chances of that happening were at a mere 5.2%. It would be easy during his week off-duty to hide such an affliction, but if the nosebleeds continued, if they became chronic, it would be far more difficult to hide them from Dr. McCoy, or Nyota, or Jim. Perhaps he could explain them away to the rest of the crew, but he knew he would not be able to explain it to them.

But then again, would they even care? Would Jim still care enough about him to seek out Dr. McCoy in the event that he witnessed his nose bleeding? Spock wasn't sure, and he found that just thinking about it was painful.

_"I can't have a sick First Officer on the Bridge. It's not…logical," _Jim had said back in the mess hall, meaning that yes, he would care as a captain cares for his crew. But would he care as a friend would for a friend? Judging by the captain's last words at breakfast, the answer would most likely be negative.

While Spock leaned over the sink, droplets of green blood escaping into the basin, he grew frustrated by the fact that the notion of not having Jim Kirk as a friend was so upsetting to him. He had come back onto this ship knowing what he had to do, and yet, now that his attempts at pushing the man he had come to be so close to away were proving successful, he felt…conflicted. He felt like he was losing something far more important than what he had given up. He almost wondered if this was what dying felt like.

After his nose had ceased bleeding, Spock was sure to clean up all evidence of blood, and sat himself tiredly on the toilet in case his churning stomach decided to expel all of the contents he had ingested that morning.

In the midst of the nausea, and the chaotic thoughts in his mind, Spock wondered if, in his future, the Enterprise would even exist.

((oOo))

That entire day on the bridge had been one of the worst Kirk had had in awhile. He hadn't been able to focus on anything except that last conversation in the mess hall. It had all started when he'd found Bones waiting by the entrance of the mess hall at 0630 hours, an intense scowl on his face.

"Bones? What are you doing here standing by the entrance?" Kirk had asked curiously.

"Not that it's your business, Jim, but I'm waiting on Spock. I'm making sure he's going to eat his breakfast, and not just throw it away like he's obviously been doing," Bones had explained to him, and glanced at his chronometer in irritation. "He's an hour late though."

That had been enough to worry the captain. Spock was never late for anything.

"Is he okay?" Kirk had asked, making the man sigh.

"Don't ask me that, Jim. If you'd actually cared about the answer, you would have gone with me last night," Bones had snapped at him, making Kirk go beat red in the face. He should have expected that.

"Well, when he gets here, I'm sure we will have some open seats. You guys should sit with us. Maybe he'll sit with me again if you encourage him," Kirk had offered sheepishly. In his mind, perhaps if McCoy was there, things might go a little easier between them.

McCoy, who had been scowling, instantly went soft and regarded Kirk thoughtfully. "I might take you up on that, Jim. God knows the Vulcan could use some socializing, and perhaps it would be good for him."

Kirk had smiled nervously in response. "Okay, well, I'll be at the usual table then…" he let his voice trail off and set off toward the replicators. Eventually, Spock had showed up a few minutes later, and Jim could not take his eyes off of him. It seemed that every time he caught sight of the Vulcan, the gaunt site of him managed to take his breath away. Spock looked so horrible.

Kirk had watched silently as Spock ordered an apple, which Bones had snatched away from him. It would have been funny on any other day, but at that moment, Kirk could not find a shred of amusement in the exchange. He had continued to watch as Spock went through meal after meal until finding one Bones approved of. When they had begun to make their way to his table, Kirk remembered panicking, and wondering if he was ready to sit across from the Vulcan. There was so much tension between them you could cut it with a knife.

And then…he had heard Spock's plea to Bones.

_"I must insist, Dr. McCoy, that we find another seating arrangement. One that is preferably empty,"_

Words spoken so impassively could not have been harder to hear. Sure Kirk had been going out of his way to avoid Spock, and Spock had done the same in his opinion, but to hear it spoken so clearly, especially when Bones had had every intention of sitting down with them, had just been painful. It was one thing to go into the mess hall alone and pick a table that didn't have specific people sitting at it, but to be presented a table, and still turn it down? That was harsh.

Kirk wasn't proud of what came out of his mouth next, how he basically had belittled Spock in public. He had been able to tell by the look on Bones' face that he had crossed a line. Hell, even Nyota had been pissy with him the rest of the morning, but he just hadn't been able to help himself. This new Spock was just so vastly different from the one he had come to know that; if he were being completely honest; it scared him.

A big part of him just wanted to corner the Vulcan in their shared bathroom the next time he heard him moving about, and demand that he tell Kirk just what the fuck his problem was, and why he was doing this. What had brought on this super Vulcan persona? Was it something Kirk had done? Was it the fucking planet? Was it just Spock coming to some Vulcan mental awakening that told him that his friendship with Kirk was fucking illogical? He didn't have a fucking clue! And it had gotten to the point where he could barely sleep at night anymore, which was another thing that bothered him. Why in the fuck was he losing this much sleep over his First Officer? Why was he getting this compromised? This obsessed?

_This is why I don't like getting close to people, because in the end, it doesn't fucking matter anyway. Everyone leaves, or everyone loses interest, _Kirk had told himself bitterly as the people from Alpha shift filed out so that Beta could begin. Kirk had kept his seat. With Spock being off duty, he had scheduled himself for Alpha and Beta shift for the week to make up for the loss of the Vulcan—who would have normally taken over for Kirk.

Kirk had ten minutes to go until the shift ended, and he had half a mind to just stay on duty through Gamma as well. Bones would throw a hissy from him working through the night, and not getting sleep, but he could deal with that later. There was nothing left for him back in his quarters but pathetic thoughts about Spock, Spock, and more fucking Spock. Plus, he really couldn't trust himself not to make good on his impulse from earlier, which was corner the Vulcan in the bathroom and demand some fucking answers.

However, when Sulu came up to him, asking if he could serve as his relief for Beta, Kirk just couldn't turn him down. He knew Sulu wanted to captain his own ship some day, and consequently was trying to get all the experience he could. Kirk couldn't deny him that. Despite his own mental turmoil, he just didn't have the heart to turn him down. At least _someone_ would have a happy day.

"Take care of my ship, Mr. Sulu," Kirk said as jubilantly as possible after he'd passed off the conn.

"Always, Captain," Sulu responded with a big, boyish grin on his face.

Kirk frowned as he left the Bridge. He used to be able to grin like that. He used to get that grin all the time before Altriri IV.

Not wanting to go back to his quarters, Kirk pondered going to the mess hall, but just thinking about that place made him lose his appetite, so he decided to do the next best thing. He went to the ship's doctor.

It was risky, going to Bones after what happened earlier that morning, as well as blowing him off when the man had asked him to go and check on Spock. But he just had to talk to someone, and Bones was the only one who knew even a third of his feelings for Spock. Bones was the only one he could confide in. If he _was _mad, he'd get over it. Hopefully.

"Hey Bones," Kirk announced morosely as he came shuffling into sickbay, nodding back to all of the nurses that greeted him.

Bones, who had been scanning an ensign with a tricorder, spared a look over his shoulder, rolled his eyes and averted his gaze back to the ensign who looked kind of freaked out. "Okay kid, you're fine, but let this be a lesson to you…never bed anything that hasn't had shots. Ever," Bones chastised the ensign who grew as red as a tomato, nodded quickly, and all but scampered from the sickbay.

Kirk raised an eyebrow at the speedy escape. "Do I even want to know?"

Bones sighed. "No, Jim. You don't. Now what do you want. Come to make even more of ass out of yourself? Because if that's so, you can turn around and march your happy ass right the hell back out of my sickbay," he spat, and pointed his finger at the entrance.

Kirk threw his hands up in mock surrender. "I come in peace, Bones. I just came here to talk about…" he paused and ran a hand nervously through his hair. "About things."

Bones leveled his eyes at him. "Would these things have pointy ears?"

Kirk whipped his head around and sounded, "shhhh!"

Bones rolled his eyes and signaled to his office. "Alright, bring your ass in here. I'm only agreeing to this so you don't make a scene in my sickbay. People work here, you know. Nurse Chapel?"

"Yes, Dr. McCoy," a pretty blond nurse sounded from just beside one of the biobeds where she was examining an officer.

Bones smiled at her, perhaps for a little too long before saying, "Tell Dr. M'Benga I'll be back in thirty."

Once inside, Kirk settled himself down in the chair across from Bones' desk. The doctor had barely let the door slide shut when he rounded on Kirk, eyes blazing. Kirk winced at the expression even though he had kind of expected it.

Bones opened his mouth, and Kirk prepared himself for a slew of profanity. However, nothing came out. When he closed his mouth, Kirk still kept his silence. Whatever he was going to say, he was going to let Bones have the first word. He kind of owed him that.

Finally though, the doctor did say something. Kirk braced himself.

"What you did this morning, Jim…" he paused and looked away. Kirk felt dread encase him. _That_ expression on Bones' face was never good. "What you said to Spock. It was uncalled for. All of it," he finished in a voice bordering on menacing.

"Bones…" Kirk started, but the man waved him harshly into silence.

"Shut your mouth, Jim! I'm so fucking pissed off at you right now," Bones paused and inhaled deeply to quell his fury. Kirk stiffened at the raw anger in the room. "I told you why I was there that morning, that I was making sure the Vulcan finished his goddamn breakfast, and you threw it in his face! Those are personal, medical details, Jim, that I shouldn't even be _telling_ you about and you…you…"

"I'm sorry, Bones. You're right, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have taken Spock's medical issues, and turned it against him like that, he just makes me so fucking angry!" Kirk yelled.

"I'm trying to help him, Jim!" Bones yelled over him before lowering his voice, his face taking on an expression of desperation. "I really am. I'm doing everything I can think of to get that stubborn Vulcan to see an ounce of goddamned reason, and you just…" he squinted his eyes in frustration. "You just come along and fuck everything up the moment I might be getting closer to him!"

Kirk stiffened in his seat. "_Me_ fuck everything up? Did you even _hear_ the same sentence I did, Bones? He practically said out loud that he would rather sit anywhere that didn't have a Jim Kirk in the seating arrangement. He doesn't _want_ anyone's help!"

"Goddamnit, Jim!" Bones yelled as he marched over to his desk and slammed his hands down on it. "You sound like a goddamned child! Listen to yourself! _He _said this and _he _said that—are you fucking kidding me?"

Kirk looked away, unable to look the doctor in the eye. As much as he wanted to argue, to defend himself and his reasoning for saying the things that he did, he just couldn't do it. He couldn't make Bones understand his…_fear_ of having the Vulcan turn him down again. Of being told by the person he cared about the most that his relationship with him was unneeded and unwanted. Bones didn't understand, he _couldn't _understand what it had been like to hear those things coming from that pale, slightly green, perfect mouth. To know that the person he had felt safe enough to invest his emotions in just didn't care.

If someone _had _asked him how it made him feel, and demanded that he answer at phaser point, he would tell them that he felt unbearably sad; crushed really. But that he also felt stupid. Stupid for being stupid enough to invest his emotions in the first place; and into a fucking Vulcan of all species. If Kirk hadn't gotten so wrapped up in the essence of Spock over the past year, those pointy ears wouldn't be half as painful to look at as they were now.

If he had been forced to share those feelings, that's what he would have said.

But Bones wasn't holding him at phaser point, and like hell he was admitting anything of his own free will.

"Are you suggesting that I apologize then?" Kirk asked quietly, and instantly began playing differing scenarios in his head that involved apologizing to the Vulcan. Every one of them was awkward as hell.

Bones looked evenly at him before all but falling into his chair, his head collapsing into his hands. His friend, it seemed, was feeling pain for Spock. That much was obvious to Kirk as he sat there, studying the older doctor. It seemed that Kirk was not the only one being affected by Spock's avoidance, and instantly he felt like the biggest ass for thinking he was the only one being affected by all of this. Some fucking friend.

"If you had asked me that yesterday? I might have suggested it. But Now?" Bones paused and brought his face out of his hands. "Now, I really don't know, Jim. I don't know if apologizing would do any good. I don't know if talking would even do anything. It's like he's just shut himself down from everything." Bones was shaking his head in disbelief.

"But why, Bones? People just don't shut themselves off. There's always a reason for it happening. Surely you have some idea—,"

Bones abruptly cut him off, "If Spock were a full human, Jim, this would be easier. There's textbooks for this kind of shit, but he's not. He's half Vulcan. I don't know the first thing about Vulcan psychology. I've already asked Dr. M'Benga, and he just keeps telling me to bring a Vulcan healer in."

Kirk's eyes widened. "Well what are you waiting for then? Bring in a damn Vulcan healer!" The fact that this _hadn't _been done yet was mindboggling to Kirk.

Bones' looked at him angrily. "I've already put in a request Jim, but it takes time. We are light years away from New Vulcan, and even when they get the request, I'm doubtful that they are going to send one of their healers out to the Enterprise. From what Dr. M'Benga has told me, there are not that many of them left after the destruction of Vulcan. We would be extremely lucky if they sent a Vulcan healer out to the Enterprise all because of Spock," Bones deadpanned.

Inside, Kirk was fuming. All because of Spock? And why the fuck not? What made him less important than them? "Okay, fine, what about just taking Spock to them then?" Kirk suggested desperately. If there was a Vulcan doctor out there that could possibly get to the root of Spock's problem, then Kirk wanted his First Officer to have a chance with him.

Bones looked at him reluctantly. "Yeah, that _is_ an option, Jim…"

Kirk sensed a 'but' coming on, and a moment later, he wasn't disappointed.

"But if we take that route, everything becomes that much more official. The entire ship would have to be diverted, which means…"

"That approval would have to come from command," Kirk finished solemnly as understanding washed over him.

Bones nodded grimly. "Exactly, Jim. And if we're turning the ship around, command is going to expect a serious reason. It means I'd have to declare Spock medically unfit. It would go on his permanent record. He would have to go through some major shit just to be _declared_ stable again."

Kirk sighed into his hands. What a mess this was all turning into; and all because Marcus had to have his cake and _goddamnit_ if that fucker hadn't had to eat it too. If he hadn't ordered Spock down on that godforsaken planet, Kirk doubted they would be in this position.

"I don't want to put him in that position if I can help it," Bones added awkwardly, as if he was debating whether or not he _should_ be putting Spock in that position.

"Do you think we need to?" Kirk added softly, afraid to hear the answer.

There was a long moment where Bones didn't say anything. Finally though, the doctor sat up straighter, his face determined. Kirk found himself leaning in toward him. "I'm going to give him what I originally gave him, which is two weeks. He ate his meal today. All of it. So that's promising. He got over his Bronchitis pretty quickly, and, as long as that weight goes back up and I don't see declinations in his efficiency, or behavioral issues, then I legally don't have a reason to divert the ship to New Vulcan."

"Well he's having behavioral issues already!" Kirk blurted out. "I mean, everyone has noticed it, even people that aren't on the bridge, Bones!" he furthered in exasperation. It wasn't that he wanted to put a black mark on Spock's record, but he also didn't want his friend to go without treatment if he really needed it.

"Jim. Those might be behavioral issues to us, but command is not going to see it like that, and I doubt the Vulcans will either. Now, if that anti-social behavior starts affecting his position? Then that gives me leeway. But right now I've got him off-duty. Right now, the only thing I can go by are my physical exams, and that weight problem of his."

"And you're clearing him next week? If I remember correctly?"

"If I can get him to gain a pound or two by then, then yes, I will clear him for duty. I wouldn't have a reason not to unless he pulls another _bronchitis _move," Bones paused thoughtfully "In fact, I think maybe getting back to work will be good for him. I think it will help to put him back on his routine from staying a month on that soul-sucking planet. I have to be honest, Jim. It's unsettling to see Spock lying around in bed all day," he finished in a nearly haunted tone, as if he were remembering a disturbing memory.

Kirk frowned. "Is that what he's been doing?" he asked quietly, and he couldn't help but feel guilty. Kirk had thought himself Spock's friend, but since he'd been back, Bones had seen him the most. Enough so as to know the Vulcan's routine since he'd gotten back on board.

"More or less, Jim. I mean, I did order him to rest, so at least he's doing that. It's just…weird, seeing Spock like that. It'll be nice to see him back at it on the bridge. I bet that as soon as he's had a couple of normal days of ordering everyone around, and correcting everyone, he'll start to come back to himself," Bones encouraged him, but Kirk wondered if he really believed that. Kirk wished he could believe it, but then again, he honestly didn't know what future held anymore.

"Maybe you're right Bones. In the meantime, I'll try and strike up some conversation with him. Obviously avoiding him is just making things worse."

McCoy sighed in relief and gave Kirk a genuine look. "I really do think that would go a long way, Jim."

"I hope so."

**A.N. As always, I would love to know what you thought! For those feeling overwhelmed by the angst in this? I suggest holding on tight, or jumping ship, because there is still a lot more to come before we get to the comfort part of this story. What does everyone think is going to happen with Spock and Jim in the next chapter? After the next update, we will be moving onto Arc 2, so…hint hint, there will be major shift in the storyline after the next chapter. **

**The name of this chapter comes from the song, "Nothing Left to Say" by Imagine Dragons. I thought it fit Spock's pov in this perfectly. **


	9. Somewhere Along in the Bitterness

**A.N. So…I have my finals this week (mostly today), and this is literally getting updated in my little 30 minute break I'm taking right now from them. My school is online so I choose when I take them (fortunately) I'm surprised I managed to update at all, quite frankly, but I really wanted to get this out do the sheer response some of you have had to it. You really push me to be as prolific as possible. **

**Now, I said in the last chapter that THIS chapter would be the last one before Arc 2. I lied. Again. There was just too much that I felt like adding, and I promisepromisepromise that the **_**next**_** chapter will be the last chapter before Arc 2 begins. I swear! My editing process for this has just been very enlightening. **

**I want to thank coccinelle a lot for this chapter. Her advice has been amazing, and, I really want to thank you guys that are review. I thank you every chapter and I will continue to because the support I get is just mind-blowing, and really makes me feel awesome about myself. **

**A little side-note about this chapter though, I am making up some of my own rules as it pertains to protocol on a starship. Honestly, the rules for day-to-day living on the enterprise is just vague and not very clear. So, I've kind of made my own rules up about the way things work in places like the mess hall for example. I'm not saying that that's how it actually works, but that's how I've interpreted it for this story. Memory Alpha can only tell me so much. **

**No major warnings! Also, I'm not using a beta on this, so all mistakes are my own. I hope you guys enjoy! **

**Chapter Nine**

**Somewhere Along in the Bitterness**

Despite the fact that Bones was not as mad at him after their _conversation_ in sickbay, Kirk couldn't help the strong feelings of anxiety that the prospect of talking to Spock brought on. For one thing, he had absolutely _no _idea what he was going to say to the Vulcan; and, there was a big part of him that was afraid of the response that he might get.

_Get your shit together, Jim. You're a grown ass fucking man, and the captain of a Starship at that, _he told himself firmly as he walked back to his quarters pondering what his next words would be to Spock. He thought about going to the mess hall for dinner, since he'd skipped lunch, but his appetite was still non-existent. Plus, he wasn't sure if Spock would be there full-filling his _medical_ orders. And, even though he'd told Bones he was going to speak with him, he wasn't ready to do it this evening; especially after he'd shown his ass in the mess hall earlier at breakfast.

No, if Spock was mad at him, and he had every right to be, Kirk decided that letting him cool off over night might be a better idea. _I'll catch him at breakfast in the morning, _he told himself as he headed for the gym instead. He was way too wired to go back to his quarters, and perhaps a weight-lifting session would tire him out a bit.

However, despite the power-lifting routine he had about killed himself doing, later on that night after Kirk had showered and dressed for bed he still couldn't get to sleep.

Thoughts of his future conversation with Spock kept him wide awake. Throughout most of the night the captain's eyes stayed glued to the door of the shared bathroom; wondering if perhaps Spock was occupying it, and if he was, Kirk was thinking about what he might be doing. Was he tending to his bruises? Showering perhaps? Brushing his perfect teeth?

It would have been so easy to get up and check for himself if Spock was in there, but the memory of the last time he'd walked in on the Vulcan came parading back to him, and he had kept his position on the bed. Not only did he not want to have another argumentative confrontation with Spock, but also, Kirk was a little bit afraid of coming face to face with those bruises again; those bruises on that perfect, pale torso. Kirk didn't trust himself not to stare at them if he were to see them again. He didn't trust himself not to become angry at the sight of them, and he didn't want to be angry when he approached Spock. He wanted—_needed —_to be calm when that moment came.

Kirk wasn't sure when he had drifted off to sleep, only that when he woke up, it felt like he'd barely gotten any at all.

Tiredly, he glanced at his chronometer. It was 1500 hours. Good. Plenty of time to get up, get dressed, and get to the mess hall where he hoped Spock would be having breakfast. According to Bones, the doctor had impressed upon Spock that he needed to eat his meals, and that he was monitoring his diet card. Therefore, Kirk had no doubts that the Vulcan would be there whether he wanted to be or not.

The bathroom was empty, but Kirk could hear Spock moving around in his own room, which meant that he was obviously getting ready. His heart panged at the sound of it, and knowing that just through the door, Spock was in there going about his routine. How many times in the month that Spock was gone had Kirk opened that door and just sat in Spock's room? Hating how _empty_ it felt? It was bizarre and unsettling to him that even though Spock was back, and that the noises of the Vulcan could be heard through the door, Kirk still felt the same emptiness. It was as if, even though he was just through the door, the room was still missing a Vulcan.

Hopefully, it wouldn't be a permanent feeling.

Kirk took his time getting ready. He wanted to make sure he arrived in the mess hall after Spock. That way, he would be the one approaching the Vulcan's table, thereby not giving him a chance to move. Nothing would stop him from moving _after_ Kirk took a seat, but hopefully that wouldn't happen. Hopefully the conversation went amicably enough to where Spock wouldn't want to leave the table. Hopefully.

"Computer, location of Commander Spock," Kirk asked the terminal on the wall as he leaned down and fumbled to put one of his boots on.

**Location of Commander Spock; messdeck. **The screen flashed.

Kirk exhaled, pulled his last boot on, and headed out the door.

Every step toward the mess hall felt like a step toward his execution. He could not believe he was this nervous over speaking to Spock, when just a month ago, he and the Vulcan were walking _together _to the mess hall.

Then again, just a month ago, he and Spock had been doing _a lot _things together that they didn't do anymore. _Like our chess games,_ he thought solemnly as he stepped into the turbo-lift.

Once he'd arrived, Kirk let his eyes scan over the mess hall, which was unusually crowded at 0615 hours.

In the midst of his scanning, he couldn't help but notice a majority of the people in the room stealing glances in one universal direction. Curious, Kirk followed their gazes to the furthest corner of the room where Spock, the only Vulcan on board the Enterprise, was currently sitting alone, his back facing the crowd.

He had a tray in front of him. Of what, Kirk didn't know, but it didn't look like he was eating it. In fact, from this vantage point, it looked like Spock was just staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Kirk couldn't see his face, but if the expressions on the people staring shamelessly at him from the next table were anything to go off of, Spock wasn't looking his best this morning.

As Kirk mentally counted every head in the room staring at his First Officer, the reason for the crowd was painfully clear. Obviously, rumors of Spock's odd behavior and probably his appearance had become the talk of the crew, and people had come to the mess hall early in hopes of getting a glimpse of the Vulcan to see it for themselves. Gossip, it seemed, was very popular on a Starship.

Kirk's jaw twitched with irritation and a surge of anger welled up within him on behalf of his friend. He wasn't stupid. He knew Spock was only coming to the mess at the crack ass of dawn to avoid being around people, and sadly, to avoid being around him as well.

Why he wanted to avoid everyone was still a mystery to Kirk, but it still pissed him off that people would actually come here early just to gawk at the Vulcan like he was some sideshow at a fucking circus. They were Starfleet officers, not teenagers in high school for fuck's sake.

Realizing that he was getting angry, Kirk took a deep breath to calm himself. It wouldn't do to approach Spock with this much frustration rolling off of him. He wasn't sure if Spock could _feel _emotions without touching people, but just in case he could, Kirk wanted to make sure he didn't feel bad emotions from him. Not when he was trying to make peace and possibly get him to open up.

Not wanting to sit down empty handed, which would just be awkward, Kirk hastily made his way toward the replicators to grab a meal. As he did so, he made sure to catch the eyes of people he passed that were staring at Spock, and glare at them. He couldn't just come out and say, "hey, stop staring at Spock, it's rude," without bringing even more attention to the Vulcan, so he would have to convey that message through his stare alone.

Most of the officers that had the misfortune of catching his gaze blushed and turned back to their table, which meant they knew _exactly_ how petty they were behaving. Some bowed their heads low as if to whisper to one another, and Kirk knew that not only were they probably talking about Spock, but about him as well. He really shouldn't be surprised. Most of the crew on the Enterprise were only a year out of the Academy. So of course, they still had the urge to act like teenagers in a school cafeteria. If half the Fleet hadn't been murdered by Nero, Kirk had no doubts that most of them, himself included, would still be back at that Academy, or serving on some older Starship in an attempt to _climb the ranks_.

If Nero hadn't done what he'd done, Kirk knew they certainly would not be serving on the flagship of the Fleet. _At least not yet._ However, that didn't change the fact that they _weren't _at the Academy, nor were they lowly ensigns on another starship. They were the crew of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_, and Kirk wasn't going to let them act like a bunch of fucking kids.

_Kinda like yourself? _A voice inside him observed sarcastically, making Kirk break off his various staring contests. How could he be mad at them when he himself had been acting like a child?

Rigidly Kirk replicated himself a bagel, and an egg. Usually, he ate more than that, but perhaps he could win a bit of Spock's approval by choosing something that the Vulcan would most certainly approve of. Spock was always going on about how his choice of a breakfast item was _illogical_ and _unhealthy_.

Tray in hand, Kirk turned back around and spared his usual table a glance. Chekov and Sulu were there, talking quietly amongst one another. No one else from the bridge crew had arrived and for a moment, he felt guilty about not choosing to sit with them. But the moment was short-lived. Spock needed him more than Sulu or Chekov, even if the Vulcan wouldn't admit it.

Of course, to get to Spock's table, he would have to pass his usual table, and when he did and they realized that no, he wasn't sitting with them, they peered up at him in confusion. However, once they saw where he was headed, simultaneous looks of understanding popped up on their faces, and they both nodded to him. At least they weren't one of the assholes staring the Vulcan down. At least they understood.

The closer he got to Spock's back, the more Kirk wanted to turn around and run back to his table. He wasn't ready to do this. He had no fucking idea what to say. He'd been a fool for thinking he did. But before he knew it he had arrived at the lonely table, and walked all the way around it so that his body was facing Spock's. Of course his arrival had interrupted Spock's glorious view of the wall, and the Vulcan blinked up at him, his face giving nothing away. Not even the faintest hint of surprise. Kirk had to wonder if Spock had known he was coming up behind him.

Now that he was face to face, he got his chance to inspect the pale face that had been hidden from view, and he honestly hadn't been as prepared as he thought he was. Yeah he'd _seen _Spock over the past few days, but it had been from afar, and when they had been close to one another, shamefully, Kirk had been attempting not to look directly at the Vulcan. Now that he was really seeing him, the sight was enough to give him chills.

He'd been right about the dark circles, for they were glaringly obvious along with the sunken in cheeks, and Kirk felt a shrill of coldness settle into his stomach as he examined the rest of the thin body. He was supposed to be looking better, not worse, and he certainly looked worse. Despite his pristine posture, Spock looked tired beyond his years. It was the eyes that gave it away. They looked older, and almost miserable. Errantly Kirk wondered if everyone else could see what he saw. If everyone else could see that there was something wrong behind those eyes. Could Spock see?

The captain had been so caught up in the moment that he didn't realize he'd been standing there for about twenty seconds, and still had not uttered a word. Neither had Spock, though.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Kirk indicated the table with the hand that wasn't holding his tray. "Um, is it okay if I sit here?" he asked hesitantly. He would have said, '_sit here, Spock?', _but the name had died on his lips. Hopefully his bravery wouldn't follow suit.

Spock blinked again, and Kirk knew he was trying to decide on an answer, which immediately made him nervous because it meant he was debating whether or not he _wanted _Kirk near him.

Feeling like a dumbass, Kirk inwardly cursed, clenched his eyes shut minutely, and blurted out, "or not, I can go back over to my table." It was spoken hastily, and very quickly he made to retreat from the table, trying his hardest not to run. It didn't help that the table next to him was observing the exchange shamelessly. It was the same table Kirk had seen staring at Spock when he'd first walked in.

He had barely taken three steps when the smooth, Vulcan cadence halted him. "You may sit here, Captain." It was spoken in barely above a whisper, as if Spock wasn't sure if he agreed with his answer, but it was all the answer Kirk needed.

Kirk exhaled largely, and with a small smile, turned back around, walked back over whilst glaring at the table next to him—_whose occupants looked away with embarrassment—_ and set his tray down softly on the table. He then slid into the seat he had been standing over. "Thanks. For a minute there, I wasn't sure you'd answer me," he commented as casually as possible, which was hard given how awkward he felt.

"You are my Captain. I am obliged to answer any and all questions you might ask," Spock responded indifferently, and picked up his spoon off of the table. Kirk eyed the dish in front of the Vulcan, the dish that looked completely untouched as he had already suspected.

"No, you don't Spock. You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable with as long as it doesn't endanger the ship or the crew," Kirk started, making Spock peer quizzically at him. Kirk soldiered on. He'd never been good at apologies, but it was now or never. "I came over here because…" he paused and looked away, only to stare straight into the faces of the people sitting at that same fucking table. Irritated, Kirk straightened up and gave them a pointed look as if to say, '_can you be fucking helped?'_ Jesus, he'd already glared at them once!

Embarrassed yet again, the red shirts drew their attention back on themselves. This time, hopefully for good.

Kirk sighed and turned back to Spock who was still staring at him, his expression unreadable. "I came over here to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for treating you like an asshole the past few days. You don't deserve that."

"Captain," Spock attempted to cut in, but Kirk put up a hand to halt him. He needed to get this off his chest.

"I acted like a child, Spock. And it was uncalled for. I shouldn't have thrown your medical business in your face like I did yesterday, and I shouldn't be going out of my way to avoid you. You're my First Officer. We can't—," he set his hands down on the table in slight frustration. "We can't keep avoiding each other like this. We're a team. We have to mesh together like one. Can you understand that?" he finished in a pleading voice, and gazed deeply into Spock's dark eyes. He wanted so badly to know what the Vulcan was thinking. _Hiding_. Yet, he kept his curiosity to himself. He knew that trying to get answers out of Spock right now would be fruitless if not detrimental to his goals.

"I do understand, Captain," Spock answered apathetically, but Kirk noticed the way his hand tightened over his spoon.

Kirk frowned, and raised an eyebrow. He hadn't been expecting such a positive answer so quickly. "You do?" he asked dumbly before he could stop himself.

"I do understand the need to function adequately as a command team, for it is essential aboard a Starship. However, that does not require that we coexist as more than a command team. I do not see how our current relationship, a professional one, hinders such an endeavor. I am not avoiding you, and I do not perceive you to be avoiding me. There is no reason, given that I am off-duty, to seek out your company, Captain. Furthermore, in regards to the perceived verbal altercation yesterday, I took no offense; therefore, an apology is unnecessary. I have become accustomed to human emotionalism during my time among your species, and I can assure you that I have no _feelings _to be injured. While I understand your argument for cohesiveness as a team, I do not agree that we must personally involve ourselves with one another to function in those roles," Spock answered in as stoic a voice as Kirk could ever remember him using.

For a moment, all Kirk could do was stare with a slight open mouth at the Vulcan in front of him. After a few seconds, he felt his nostrils flare while the familiar anger and hurt began to pool into his system. For a moment, he swore he saw Spock wince in pain in the midst of all this, but it had happened so quickly that he couldn't be sure just what he saw.

Kirk wanted to yell. He wanted to scream at Spock to drop his super Vulcan act and tell him what the fuck was wrong with him. And, perhaps if he had been the James Kirk from yesterday, he might have done those things. But the James Kirk from yesterday wouldn't get him any further than where he was right now, which was nowhere. It had been a mistake to come over to this table, but he wouldn't make it an even bigger mistake by losing his cool…again. Perhaps he could still salvage the situation though.

Straightening up with a little too much vigor, Kirk swallowed the sizable lump that had formed in his throat, and smiled at Spock his best smile. Was he hurt? Of course he was. Who wouldn't be after hearing that bullshit. But again, acting on the anger he wanted to express to protect himself hadn't done him any favors so far. Instead, he inhaled, picked up his fork, and attacked his egg with as much grace as he could manage. The anger had to go somewhere, and at the moment, the egg had become the victim.

"Okay, Spock. We can play it that way," he started in a surprisingly calm voice, and stuffed some of the egg in his mouth.

Spock blinked at him, and this time, Kirk could see the bemusement in his eyes. He had obviously been expecting Kirk to lash out at him.

"But I'm not taking back my apology, and, I'm not moving tables either. I like this table. It's quiet, somewhat peaceful, and at least me sitting here gives you something to look at other than the wall," he finished confidently, and shoved more of the egg into his mouth, making sure to chew it with gusto. "Plus, I can make sure that you finish that plate there because you're right, you are off duty, for medical reasons, and I need my First Officer back and functioning, preferably thirteen pounds heavier."

Spock pursed his lips, dropped his spoon, and folded his hands into his lap before glancing around the mess hall. Kirk knew what he was doing. He was looking for another table. But like hell Kirk was going to make it that easy for him.

"It's almost 6:30, Spock. And for some reason, a lot more people are wanting to eat their breakfast early. Good luck finding a table emptier than this one," Kirk pointed out smugly as he indicated the crowded room, and took an exaggerated bite out of his bagel.

Spock turned back around to face him, and Kirk was struck by the raw vulnerability in the dark eyes; a vulnerability that hadn't been there before. In fact, if Kirk didn't know any better, he'd say that Spock was actually frightened at the aspect of not having another table to escape to, and that was…unsettling. He hadn't realized just how much the Vulcan didn't want to be around him, but where before it would have angered him, now it just depressed him.

"Look. I'm not leaving this table. I came over here to eat with you, and that's what I'm going to do. We used to be able to eat together all the time, and I see no reason why we can't continue doing that. However, if my presence is really that detestable, I'll make a deal with you," Kirk paused and leaned forward, repressing the surge of hurt that overcame him when Spock did not comment on the things that they _used _to do together. "We eat together. At the same table. Just you and I. You don't have to say anything, and I won't say anything to you unless you want me to, or unless it's ship's business," Kirk offered genuinely, and he did mean it. He wouldn't utter a word to Spock unless the Vulcan prompted the conversation.

"Captain, I see no logical reason why we should frequent the same table at meal times. Ship's business should be discussed in a more professional setting such as a ready room. I find that by eating by myself, the length of time spent in the mess hall is considerably shortened, thereby leaving me more time to attend to other, more important matters," Spock countered quietly, his gaze dropping down to the table. Such a gesture was disturbing to Kirk, for Spock never dropped his gaze.

"Yeah, you would probably eat more _efficiently_ by yourself, but that doesn't make it more logical," Kirk argued, his tone still calm as ever."

Spock peered sharply at him. "Clarify," he asked.

Kirk leaned back in his chair. "Despite what you may think about our relationship, and how we don't have one, the crew?" and here he indicated the room at large. "They _do _think that we're friends. They _expect _us to eat our meals together because that's what we've been doing for the past six to eight months. The fact that we don't anymore is causing them to doubt us. It's causing them to question our ability to command this ship together. It's causing them to come to their own conclusions. It's causing them to worry. Why else do you think they are all here this early in the morning?" he pointed out, and was careful to leave out that the _other _reason everyone was here so early was to get a good look at his drastic change in appearance. "They believe that we are not getting along, Spock," he finished in a serious voice.

"That is illogical," Spock countered briskly, but Kirk wasn't backing down.

"On the contrary, Spock. The majority of the crew is human. They don't work like Vulcans. They don't operate within the realm of complete and total logic. They come to conclusions, which leads to speculation, which then leads to rumors, and pretty soon you've got a crew that thinks that their senior command team is fighting, and consequently, efficiency ratings go down across the board. Wouldn't you say that it's logical to at least appear to be friends with one another for the sake of crew morale? For the sake of an effective ship?" Kirk argued quietly, but desperately. He hoped that the logical way he'd presented said argument would leave the Vulcan no choice but to agree with Kirk's deal.

Spock, whose mouth had opened in the middle of Kirk's explanation to undoubtedly spurt off some sort of counter argument, abruptly closed it. He had been rendered speechless.

"Well, Spock? What do you say? Will you agree to at least have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with me?" Kirk asked hopefully, and hoped that he didn't sound desperate, despite him feeling that way.

For a long moment, Spock didn't respond. He simply sat there, his eyes searching his bowl of plomeek soup for some non-existent object. In the midst of his silence, Nyota and Bones had walked into the mess hall, and when their eyes landed on him he gave them a warning look. The last thing he needed was more people coming over to badger Spock. Fortunately they took the hint, and walked over to the usual table—without Kirk.

The captain was still looking at them when Spock finally spoke, his voice meek and mild, not at all like the Vulcan he knew. "We would not have to converse? We could eat in silence?"

Kirk's heart panged at the inflection, as if conversing with him was a horrible, detestable thing. However, he masked his hurt and smiled. "No, Spock. We can eat here in total silence. All you have to do is show up, sit down, and eat," he assured him, though it was hard to do so. Of course Kirk wanted Spock to converse with him, and a part of him wanted to say that. He missed listening to that smooth voice, and how he could make anything sound intelligent yet beautiful at the same time. But if being silent unless spoken to would get Spock to let his guard down? And hell, if it would get the Vulcan to start _eating_ regularly again? He wasn't about to say no.

"I do admit, your argument is logical. I regret that I had not thought of it in that way," Spock went on in a slightly distant voice.

"So…that's a yes, then?" Kirk supplied hopefully.

Spock finally looked at him, the mask of indifference back in place; the vulnerability from before, completely gone. "Affirmative, Captain. We will share the same table at meal times per your request. I would be remiss in my duty as First Officer to permit crew morale to decline when it could be prevented," he answered, and actually took a bite of his soup. It had probably been the first one all morning.

Kirk couldn't help but smile. He was still a long way from getting the Spock he knew back. Hell, it was surreal that he was this excited about the Vulcan agreeing to sit at the same _table _as him. Oddly, it felt like it did in the beginning of their relationship onboard the ship. Here he was, pulling out all the stops and trying to trick his Vulcan First Officer into trusting him like he had back then.

But the elatedness was short-lived, and the smile slipped from his face. Yes, they had done this in the beginning, but that was the problem. That was in the _beginning_. Spock shouldn't be acting like this now, and yet, here he was, acting like he'd never shared a table with another living being in his life.

"Captain, I wish to ask a favor of you," Spock asked in the quiet voice again, effectively bringing Kirk from his depressing thoughts.

"Anything, Spock," he answered immediately, and he meant it. He'd do _anything_ for the Vulcan across from him. One-way street or not.

"If it would not hinder your other relationships, I would…I would ask that the occupancy of this table be limited to just you and I," Spock paused and pinched his eyebrows together, a sign of frustration. Kirk couldn't believe that the Vulcan was allowing _this _much emotion in front of him. Perhaps he wasn't aware that he was doing it. "I find that I am still _fatigued," _he spoke the word like it was something detestable, "from my stay on Altriri IV. The prospect of a crowded table is…I do not…" he paused again, and Kirk could see that he was struggling with how to word his sentence; how to tell Kirk that he didn't want to sit with everyone else. That if he was going to be forced to sit with someone, he would rather it be just him.

Kirk didn't know how to take that, or what it meant. He wasn't sure how fatigue would affect sitting with colleagues, but again, he was treading on thin enough ice as it was. If Spock didn't want to sit with everyone else, Kirk wasn't going to make him. "It's okay, Spock. I see what you're trying to say. No, you don't have to sit with them. They'll be a little confused, given that you always used to sit with them, but they'll understand that you're just trying to get back on your feet."

Spock looked at him gratefully, and Kirk could have melted into the gaze. The first amicable gaze he'd received since the Vulcan had gotten back. "Thank you, Captain."

Kirk winced. He'd been hoping for a _Jim_, but oh well. For another time, then.

"You're welcome, Spock. Now finish your breakfast. I see Bones eyeing this table down like it's a fatal disease. I don't know about you, but it's too early in the morning to listen to that particular bitch fest," Kirk commented and looked down at his meal.

From across the table, Spock muttered, "I agree, Captain."

((oOo))

To Spock's relief, Jim stayed true to his promise as the meal went on. He did not utter another word. Of course, Spock could sense his emotions, and his _want_ to speak to him, as well as the hurt of not being spoken to, but there was nothing for it. Anything Spock had to say would be misinterpreted as an invitation for Jim to get closer to him, and perhaps question him about the planet once he felt comfortable enough with doing so.

Every now and then, Jim would look up from his breakfast and open his mouth to speak, but no words ever came out. Spock knew it was hard for Jim, to sit there in silence. Especially when his captain was always the most sociable one at the table. Every time Jim closed his mouth after one of these gestures, Spock would feel the barest hint of frustration from him. The frustration would push at his mind, but fortunately it was not enough to be painful to Spock, only a slight discomfort. In fact, despite another mind sitting so close to him, Spock had to admit that having Jim near him was pleasing.

For some illogical reason that he could not fathom, having Jim at his table made him feel…safe.

Sitting there now, Spock wished to express that feeling to Jim, especially since he could feel his sadness from across the table. He wished to tell Jim that having him in close proximity did not cause him pain all of the time. That sometimes, having him close helped him to manage his fear and his uncertainty. Spock did not want to sit in silence despite what he had said. In fact, he missed the sound of Jim's lively voice and the way his eyes would come alive during whatever tale he was currently telling. He missed the casual sway of their conversations as it had been before Altriri IV. He missed Jim's laughter, and his smile. But, due to the terms of the deal, Spock would not witness these things.

A pang of desolation hit him square in the side at the thought. To never have the relationship he yearned for with Jim was…painful to ponder.

Then again, he did not deserve to witness these things. If Jim were behaving intelligently; logically; he would know what a waste of time it was to continue sitting in Spock's company when it would gain him nothing. Humans required a social atmosphere in a way that Vulcans did not, and by sitting here at this table, Jim was depriving himself of that chance. Spock was ninety point three percent sure that if the captain actually took the requisite time to think about his situation, he would come to the conclusion that Spock wasn't worth sitting with, and go back to their old table.

There was also another reason Spock was reluctant to permit Jim to sit with him.

If he were being honest, Spock felt _guilty _for permitting Jim to continue sitting here. For if he knew the truth, he would know that he was sitting across from a criminal and…and a whore. Certainly not a proper First Officer, and certainly not a Vulcan.

Spock inwardly flinched at his self-observation. It was one that he never imagined he would apply to himself, and while he had been having these feelings since striking the deal with the High Priest on Altriri IV, he had never acknowledged them in such a way. But was he wrong? Had he not broken a regulation? Had he not exchanged the use of his body for the signing of a treaty? For Jim's Captaincy? Therefore, the terms: _criminal_ and _whore,_ were applicable, were they not?

How much would Jim's opinion of him change if he knew these things? If he knew the full extent of what had taken place in that room down on Altriri IV? Spock felt his heart constrict as he imagined it. He imagined Jim's disappointment in him once he learned the truth. He was not sure whether or not Jim would actually turn him into the authorities, and he found it unsettling to think about. Of course, Spock would push Jim to or legally, he would become an accomplice. But what if Spock did not have to push him? What if Jim was so disgusted with him that he immediately relieved him of duty, and sent him to the brig until he could be dropped off at the closest Starbase? It terrified him just thinking about it.

In time, he could learn to live with his father's disappointment, and perhaps even his people. After all, he had been living with their disappointment in him his entire life. But could he live with Jim's disappointment? His disgust? It was startling how much that very thing mattered to him. That this man, who a year ago he had detested whole-heartedly, could influence his emotions in a way that even his father could not. Perhaps his shields were not the only thing that the priest had destroyed. Perhaps something else had broken inside of him.

However, had he not had these bemusing feelings for Jim _before _he and S'teth had copulated? Had he not been driven to sacrifice everything for them? The real question was _when_ had that happened? When was the moment when he had become compromised by his feelings for the captain? When had he stopped acting logically, and instead permitted himself to be ruled by the very thing his people had the utmost control over?

_Vulcan repression cannot hide who you really are, _the priest had said to him. 

Was S'teth the only one capable of seeing him for what he was?

"Spock, you okay?" Jim asked him from across the table, and immediately the Vulcan blushed. Had his shame and self-hatred been showing so plainly on his face as to have the captain notice it? Unacceptable.

"We agreed upon silence, Captain," Spock answered firmly, his eyes never leaving his bowl which had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room. A third of the meal had been consumed, and he found that sufficient. If his emotions were that visible, it was dangerous to linger here where Jim would undoubtedly get suspicious. For the first time in a long time, Spock envied the humans around him and their ability to experience their emotions so easily.

Jim's face took on a dark shade of red. "Sorry. I forgot. It's just…for a moment you looked…" Jim started hesitantly, and Spock could feel his concern hit him like a ton of bricks. For a moment he felt blinded by it. Pressured as such strong emotions intermingled with his own.

"I have completed as much as I am able of my meal, Captain. I will take my leave now. I bid you a productive day," Spock cut him off, and without looking at him, picked up his tray and headed off to the waste dispenser. He was aware of the many eyes on him, watching him, judging him, and it gave him all the more reason to retreat from the mess hall and return to his quarters.

He did not spare another glance to Jim. He could not.

((oOo))

An hour before lunch was scheduled to begin; Spock received a message on his PADD from none other than Dr. McCoy.

** I don't think I need to remind you that lunch is in an hour. You'd better be there, or I'll come get you myself. I'm giving you another exam in two days. I expect to see some weight gain. **

Spock, who had been attempting to meditate, inwardly groaned and pulled himself up off the floor. His head throbbed, but he ignored it as best as he could, and proceeded to make himself presentable. For what wasn't the first time, Spock debated requesting to have a replicator capable of food production brought into his room so that he would not have to venture to the mess hall. However, just like the last time he'd considered such a request, he instantly decided in the negative.

The approval of a replicator in one's room was at the doctor's discretion, and Dr. McCoy would undoubtedly become curious at Spock's sudden wish to avoid the mess hall. He did not wish to rouse suspicion by making such a request, therefore, he wouldn't.

Hopefully, given his abrupt departure from the mess hall earlier, and the way he'd left Jim, the captain would see the futility of sitting with him. Certainly he could find more enjoyment out of sitting with other members of the crew who could provide him with an amicable conversation. Spock had no doubt that once Jim came to this realization, he would elect to take his meal at his regular table. Whether or not the rest of the bridge crew would be there Spock did not know. He had not paid attention to the duty roster as it pertained to them.

Unfortunately, but not to his surprise, Spock endured a heavy amount of stares on his way down to the mess hall, and even more upon his entrance to said hall. It seemed that despite being back on the ship for almost three days now, his appearance was still cause for interest and curiosity. Enough so that even his attempts at arriving as early as possible were becoming pointless.

Spock was not stupid. He knew why most of them had been there at such an hour, and if he hadn't known, Jim had told him at breakfast. However, Spock knew that their _worry_ about his relationship with the captain was only half the reason if not only a third.

Every time he looked at himself in the mirror he was reminded of why he had suddenly become so popular to gawk at. He looked different. He didn't look like himself, and obviously rumors about his changed appearance had run rampant throughout the ship. Spock had come to know through his time spent around humans that whenever a rumor _had been_ started, there was always an unbearable need to confirm the validity of it through sight. Plus, he had heard as much in the conversations he had had the unfortunate pleasure of overhearing.

_"Have you seen the Commander? He looks like a zombie."_

_ "I heard he picked up some disease on the planet, and they're not able to fix it."_

_ "Disease? Oh my, is it contagious? Surely Dr. McCoy wouldn't allow him to go wandering around if it was contagious?" _

_ "Man, someone needs to give him a cheeseburger…"_

_ "Even the Captain knows something is wrong with him. They barely speak to each other anymore…"_

Those were just a few of the errant conversations Spock had picked up in the mess hall and corridors over the past couple of days. It seemed that most of the crew were not aware of his keen Vulcan ears, and thus had not known he could hear them.

But he had heard them.

Spock could not blame them. The majority of the crew was human. And on a Starship, what humans coined as '_gossiping'_ was one of the few forms of entertainment available to a mass group of people living for such a prolonged time in a confined area. However, just because he did not blame them did not mean that he was okay with it. He did not wish to be stared at and evaluated. He did not wish for people to form conclusions about the things affecting him without facts. The logical thing would be to get his appearance back to how the crew remembered it. And after the conversation with Jim earlier, he needed to work on his relationship with the captain as well.

He _was_ trying, but it was harder than he imagined it would be. He knew that it was not beneficial or logical to appear weak and unhealthy in front of the officers that served underneath him. He was second in command. He had an obligation to look the part. He had an obligation to appear strong and confident to the people expected to follow his orders without question.

"Oh, you were right Maken, he _does _look sick. I hope they are able to help him. Seeing sick Vulcans is disturbing…" Spock heard someone comment errantly from the table nearest to the entrance of the mess hall. It had been spoken in a whisper, but Spock had heard every word. By the impassive expression on his face, no would have guessed that though.

Wishing to be out of hearing distance of the gossiping table, Spock made his way to the replicators. Briefly, he let his eyes ghost over to the table he had been utilizing for the past two days and was unprepared for the way his heart sank when he noticed it was empty. Why was this upsetting to him? He should be elated that Jim had given up the attempt at sitting with him at meal times. But he wasn't.

Quickly, Spock glanced over to his _old _table, but instead of the usual bridge crew that populated it, in their place was a group of people in blue shirts from the science department. Perhaps Jim and the others had not arrived for lunch yet. Errantly Spock deduced that if they planned on eating lunch at this time, they should make haste. Already the room was severely crowded, hence why the officers from the science department had chosen their old table. Aside from the lonely table at the back where Spock had recently been sitting, there weren't many tables left to sit at.

After acquiring his meal, Spock walked over to his table, ignored the stares that followed him, and sat down with his back facing the room as he usually did. The noise level in the mess hall was exceedingly high, even by normal standards, and it made Spock's hurt. Again, he inwardly cursed Dr. McCoy for making it mandatory to come to the mess hall. He was tempted to take his food back through the corridor, and to his room, but again, he didn't imagine that would appear very sound in front of the crew. It was not logical to bring his meal back to his quarters when there was a perfectly adequate place to consume it.

The emotions he felt from the individuals around him were also something unusual in addition to the high noise level. Instead of the curiosity and worry he'd felt over the past two days, he instead felt waves of excitement and jubilance from varying areas of the room. Was there something going on that he was not aware of? It would not surprise him. He hadn't exactly been an active crewmember since coming back.

"Those geeks in the science department are going _down_ tonight," an enthusiastic male voice sounded from behind Spock, and a second later, three red-shirts took exaggerated seats at his table; their excitement sitting down with them full force. Judging by their uniforms, they were from the security department.

"Hendorff's the Captain, and from what I've heard he was the MVP on his high school basketball team," the largest of the men added eagerly as he picked up his forked and attacked the steak on his plate. The steak was bloody, and it made Spock nauseas looking at it.

The third addition, ensign Ganthen if he remembered correctly, eyed Spock warily when he caught him staring at the plate. "…Um, is it alright if we sit here Commander? Everywhere else is full…" he sounded awkwardly, and the other two men, who finally took notice of him blushed when they realized who he was. A wave of trepidation passed through all three of them, and it made Spock's heart jolt. Were they afraid to sit here with him?

"It is not logical for you eat your meal standing. You may sit. I do not possess ownership over this table," Spock answered stoically, yet, despite the absence of inflection, the men in front of him still flinched and the trepidation grew even higher. The answer Spock wanted to give was a negative, because no, he did not want the men sitting with him. It was painful to sit around them, but he pushed it down and away from him. Sooner or later, he would _have_ to learn how to exist around the other members of the crew. This was pivotal. It was vital.

"Thanks," the one who had initially spoken, Spock did not know his name, answered hurriedly and turned back to his companions to resume their prior conversation.

"You guys are underestimating Mustovo. He might be a science geek, but that boy has got an arm on him. I haven't seen him miss a shot down in the gym. We definitely got our work cut out for us tonight," Ganthen commented excitedly, and suddenly Spock realized the cause for the excitement across the mess hall. Apparently, there was going to be a basketball game taking place in the gymnasium later in the day, and the crew was looking forward to it. Spock knew that these things went on often on the Enterprise, and while he had no wish to participate in them, it was essential for crew morale.

Jim, he knew, often enjoyed participating in these types of endeavors; competitions between the departments. His favorite tended to be the sparring matches. In fact, the captain's interest in the art of hand-to-hand combat had been one of the first things that had drawn Spock closer to him.

Jim had come to him, near the start of their two-year mission, and asked him—_timidly_—to teach him the Vulcan fighting style. Perhaps Jim had expected him to decline the request, given the way he had posed it, which had been why the captain had been utterly shocked when Spock had accepted his request. Spock had seen no reason why the captain _shouldn't_ be schooled in the discipline of _Suus Mahna_. It would only make Jim a more formidable opponent should the need arise during a mission; therefore, it had been logical for Spock to agree.

Now, he wondered if _logic _had been the only motivator in that decision.

It had taken Jim a month to become proficiently adept in the Vulcan Martial Art. There was still much about it that he needed to learn, but _Suus Mahna_ took a full Vulcan many years to learn. Therefore, it had not been a surprise that Jim had not been able to become as proficient as Spock was. However, he had still learned far more than the Vulcan had expected him to, and in far less time than it should have. And, even though his captain had more to learn and perfect, Jim had been unbeatable in sparring matches with the skill he had managed to hone. The only one who _could_ beat the captain was Spock himself. And while Spock and Jim had often sparred with one another, the Vulcan never competed against him.

"Well, for my credit account's sake, I really do hope Hendorff pulls this off. You have no idea how much I have riding on this game," the largest ensign spoke through a mouth full of nearly raw steak. The other two men hummed in agreement and started in on their own bloody meals. It was unfortunate that all three of them had chosen meat as their meal, and nearly raw meat at that.

Spock fought the wave of nausea that trickled through him as the smell of the meat wafted over to him. He had not liked meat before, but after Altriri IV, he had come to completely detest it. The smell, the appearance, the taste, it all made him feel physically ill. Spock had never tasted meat before staying on the planet, and even still, he had yet to consume meat in a solid form. No, he had learned of its taste through S'teth and the many kisses the alien had forced upon him when he had come to him after eating a meal.

Spock had once read in a research article that the sense of smell was the most powerful trigger of memories. Sitting there now, his head bowed low, his head throbbing, and his body inwardly and outwardly tensing, Spock had no doubts to the validity of such a claim.

Despite his inner chaos, the three ensigns sitting there at the table carried on loudly and exuberantly, completely oblivious. "I'm way too broke to actually make a wager," Ganthen commented.

"Well, I made the bet when I thought that Captain Kirk was going to be playing. If he's as good at basketball as he is in fighting, I had no doubt about Security wiping the floor with Science."

Spock stiffened when he heard the mention of Jim. Had he been planning on playing? Spock knew that Jim had been looking for ways to gain favor among the crew over the past year. His plan to participate in what he assumed was the terran game of _basketball,_ would not be surprising.

"You know, this game has been planned for two months now. Hendorff said that the Captain was going to be playing with them. That's the thing about being the captain, he don't belong to a department, so he can choose which one he wants to play with. Science got him for that stupid volley ball game, remember that Miles?" Ganthen asked the largest ensign who nodded in the midst of his chewing.

"Yeah, I remember that. I was so pumped when I learned that he would be playing for Hendorff. Those two didn't always get along I heard. But when they work together, apparently their unbeatable." Miles commented, and Spock was unprepared for the sliver of jealousy that rooted itself in his side. Immediately he attempted to push it away. He had no basis to experience such an emotion, and it disgusted him in its primitiveness.

"So…why isn't he playing?" the still unnamed ensign asked in genuine bemusement.

A surge of accusation surged through the other two men, and Spock did not need it spoken verbally to know that it was aimed directly at him. Feeling oddly like he was being stared at, Spock glanced up from his untouched meal only to briefly meet the stares of the three men before he looked back to his food. Two of the men, Miles and Ganthen, were shooting him knowing looks. It was obvious to Spock now that Jim had declined participation because of him. Why, Spock was unsure.

"Hendorff said they spoke in the gym last night. Apparently he's got too many reports to do, or something like that. Yet, he had time for the gym…" Miles commented sourly, as if he didn't believe such reasoning, which meant he believed that Jim was lying. While Spock also did not believe the reasoning supposedly given by Jim, that did not mean he approved of the three ensigns openly debating it here in the mess hall.

"Is that true, Commander Spock?" the unnamed ensign asked, prompting Spock to look up at them, his head protesting at the abrupt new focal point as his own irritation bubbled within him.

"If Captain Kirk has stated that as his reasoning, then I see no logical reason why you should not accept it as fact. The Captain would not _lie_ to you. As the highest ranking officer on this ship, his schedule is quite different than yours, and therefore he should not be expected to participate in every recreational endeavor you request of him," Spock all but spat. He did not like the casual way these officers were discussing Jim. He also did not approve of Commander Hendorff discussing Jim's conversations with his ensigns.

Simultaneously three waves of additional irritation flowed into him at his curt reply, and it took everything he had to mask the pain it caused his mind. Negative emotions, especially when aimed directly at him and mixed with his own, were always the most painful to experience. However, despite their immense irritation for him, the expressions on their faces gave nothing away. They remained as polite as ever.

"Of course, Commander, I—we apologize for inferring differently," Ensign Ganthen answered professionally for all three of them, but inside, Spock could still feel his annoyance, and a strong surge of dislike along with the other two men. These feelings were no surprise to Spock. He was often used to being generally disliked by both his own people, and those of Earth. He only wished he did not have to experience it in the way he was doing now; telepathically.

He wished he could ask them to leave the table if only to quell his pained mind, but he knew that such a thing would be interpreted as something different. He had no grounds to ask them to leave.

Two tables chose that moment to get up from around him, and briefly Spock hoped they would move on their own to one of the now empty tables, but they didn't. They stayed there eating and ripping apart their steaks with their teeth.

"This is actually pretty decent replicated steak if I don't say so myself," Miles commented in what Spock deduced was an attempt to break the awkward silence.

"Yeah, I usually can't get mine this rare. Gives me some _invalid request_ screen when I try."

"That's because you practically like your steak fresh off the animal. The replicator feels that that's barbaric," Miles laughed heartily, and again, Spock winced from the laughter, and just what they were laughing about. He felt ashamed for experiencing such feelings, for finding it this difficult to eat here at a table with three other members of the crew. A month ago, this would not have bothered him, but now he just couldn't help himself. It was unacceptable and beyond embarrassing that he kept connecting the meat in front of him with the High Priest; with that horrible planet. It was embarrassing that something is trivial as emotion could cause him such pain.

"Commander? Somethin' wrong?" Ganthen probed in slight surprise. Apparently, his wince had not gone unnoticed. Spock inwardly berated himself as he prepared to answer in the negative.

Before he could manage an answer though, another voice, a soothingly familiar one, sounded from just behind him. "Hey Spock, sorry I'm late. There was a problem on the bridge, but it's handled now," Jim announced loudly, making the other three officers instantly straighten up.

Spock could feel the human's body heat as he came from behind him, plopped his tray down and slid into the seat beside him. His captain radiated annoyance, but also, there was a hint of protectiveness mixed in amongst the emotions.

"Captain Kirk, sir," Miles acknowledged in starkly different tone than the one he had used with Spock. Spock could sense nervousness make itself known in the three men.

"Ensign Miles," Jim answered, and nodded to the other two men before turning back to Spock.

Spock, who had gone rigid at the arrival of his captain, turned his head to regard him. "Captain," he stated apathetically.

Jim smiled that radiant smile before drawing his attention back to the three ensigns. "Aren't you three supposed to be down on Deck 4? I heard something about a drill going on later for security ensigns. It would be a shame to miss it, especially when Commander Hendorff took so much time to put it together," he pointed out casually and picked up a roll on his tray. He smiled at them before taking a large bite out of it.

The three men glanced nervously at one another, and Spock could feel their disbelief first, and then the dread that settled into all three of them at the prospect of missing a mandatory drill.

"There's a drill today?" Ganthen asked in bemused shock.

Spock felt a trickle of amusement from Jim as he answered. "As far as I know. I could be wrong, but…just in case I'm not, I would head to Deck 4," he answered sweetly and leveled his gaze at them.

The three men gave each other nervous looks before getting up from the table, bloody trays in hand. "Aye, Captain," they all three voiced before rushing away. Spock felt a wave of relief when their emotions left with them. The only emotions that lingered behind belonged to the human beside him who wasted no time in pushing his tray over and across the table. He then sighed, got up, and seated himself across the table where he'd sat earlier that morning.

Spock took a moment to inspect him as he set up his tray. Jim looked exhausted, and Spock worried if the captain was permitting himself to sleep, or if his nights were as restless as Spock's were. His mind carried with it a constant throb of tension, and mental exhaustion, and Spock felt guilty at the prospect that he was responsible for it.

Once he was settled, a hint of concern touched Spock's mind. "I really am sorry I'm late. You would not believe the size of the ion storm we were headed for," Jim breathed out enthusiastically. "I mean, it was _this_—," and here Jim brought his hands up in the air, "big, Spock. But fortunately, Chekov and his bad ass navigational skills had us skipping right along the side of it. You would have loved it. Lt. Rivers got some pretty amazing scans of it—,"

"Thank you, Captain, for apprising me of the current happenings on the bridge," Spock cut him off, hating himself as he did so. It was not that he did not want to listen to Jim speak, but if he permitted him to speak, the captain would only attempt to fall back into their previous relationship before Altriri IV, and it would only become harder and harder for Spock to keep him at a professional distance.

Jim, whose mouth had been open mid-sentence, quickly snapped it shut; and where once a smile had been plastered on that bright and optimistic face (despite the exhaustion Spock could feel from his mind), a frown was now in its place. Spock could feel the negative emotions beginning to surface and he briefly wondered if now the human would realize how pointless it was to sit with him. Spock decided to brace himself for the dismissal he knew was coming.

Only, it never came.

"Sorry Spock, I forgot our deal. Won't happen again," he said shortly, quietly, and began picking at the food on his plate. Spock could feel the confusion and the sadness welling up within his captain, but throughout it all, Jim stayed utterly silent and ate his food.

About five minutes into the meal, Spock decided that there was one question he had to ask. He had to know. "Captain," Spock started and felt his heart sank at the way Jim's head shot up and looked at him almost eagerly. "You spoke of a drill being performed on Deck 4 by Commander Hendorff. Was that a valid story?"

Jim's shoulder's rolled forward while he drew a hand through his hair; his eyes looking off into the distance. "Uh…yes and no? I know Hendorff has got a drill scheduled, but he hasn't given me the time frame yet."

Spock pursed his lips and leaned forward slightly. "Then…why did you inform those men that their presence was required for a drill?"

Jim leveled his eyes at him. "Because, Spock, I know you want to eat alone, and I know they probably came and sat down after you were already here. I know you're not feeling one-hundred percent yet, and I just didn't think you were enjoying sitting here listening to them talk about eating rare steak. I had the power to do something, so I did," he deadpanned.

"I do not require you to chaperone the tables that I choose to sit at, Captain. I am quite capable of handling myself," Spock answered firmly.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm aware of that, Spock. I didn't do it because you can't handle yourself. I was just looking out for you," he started in an almost heated tone. Spock could feel the annoyance beginning to resurface. He probably should have stopped himself from saying what he did next.

"As I have already informed you countless times, Captain, I do not need you to _look_ out for me. It would not surprise me if those three ensigns decided to file a complaint against you for giving them false information," Spock informed him coolly, and Jim visibly winced and appeared as if he had been struck. Inside, a part of Spock was screaming at him to just stop talking. All he was accomplishing was angering Jim further and further.

_But that is the point, is it not? _a small part of him; the part that was still wholly logical, sought to inform him.

"A complaint? Are you kidding me, Spock?" he questioned with wide eyes.

"I do not _kid, _Captain. You gave them false information pertaining to an event that is supposedly mandatory. They would be within their rights…"

"So they'll get down there and realize they've been one-upped? What's the big deal? Is it so unfathomable that I would have gotten the dates wrong?"

"You are the Captain. You should not _get the dates _wrong," Spock pointed out flatly.

Jim suddenly slammed his silverware down onto the tray. Fortunately, the sound was not loud enough to garner extra attention in such a noisy room. "Well as far as they know, I did, Spock. It happened. I was just trying to help you out. You told me barely a few hours ago that you didn't want the other bridge crew sitting with you, that it was too damn hard for you to handle. So excuse me for wanting to make you comfortable by getting rid of some ensigns who couldn't even think enough about your dietary preferences to _not_ eat their bloody ass steaks around you," Jim argued bitterly, his eyes narrowed. The anger was truly palpable now, and Spock felt it digging at his mind. He brought his hands under the table where they clenched unnoticeably into fists. It was the only way to get his focus off the pain.

"Regulation clearly states—," he had started quietly, not even really focusing on what he was saying anymore due to the migraine.

"Fuck regulation, Spock," Jim hissed so that no one could hear him. He peered at the Vulcan for a long moment, his gaze calculating before adding, "you want to file a complaint? Go ahead."

"Perhaps I shall, Captain," Spock lied through glaring eyes. Of course he would not file a complaint, especially over something as miniscule as the exchange that had just taken place. Jim did not have to know that, though.

Jim blinked at him in disbelief, and the shock permeating off of him was staggering. However, instead of leaving the table, or coming back with some sort of retort, the human just pursed his lips and set his tray with a hard glare. Spock could hear him breathing heavily, and was already preparing himself for the words that would undoubtedly pierce his heart.

But they never came.

After a few moments, Jim just laughed hollowly and continued eating the food on his plate. He did not spare Spock another glance, and he did not speak to him for the rest of the meal. But he did stay. And Spock wasn't sure to be relieved by that, or disheartened that his attempts at pushing the captain away were continuing to fail.

When dinner came around, Jim was there. They both had remained silent through it all, but the captain remained.

It was the same throughout the days leading up the physical examination. Jim would continue to sit with Spock at the table and eat his meal in silence. Not once did the captain utter a word, but he did stay.

((oOo))

"Alright, Spock. Take off your shirt," McCoy requested while his eyes roamed over information on a PADD. Spock assumed it was most likely his medical information.

Spock, who was sitting on a bio-bed in a private room in sickbay, hesitated at the request.

The last time he had been shirtless in front of another male was with Jim in their shared bathroom all those nights ago, and it hadn't gone well at all. And, if he were counting nightmares as well, then he would have to modify that length of time to mere hours instead of days. His last attempt at sleep had ended in a horrible nightmare, this time taking place in that same shared bathroom.

"Spock…"

"I apologize, Doctor," Spock answered quietly and gripped the hem of his shirt to pull it off. He shivered when his skin embraced the cold air in the sickbay, and resisted the urge to cover himself with his arms. He was already quite sensitive to the cold, but add in the fact that he was grossly thin, the cold temperature was all the more detrimental.

"Thanks," McCoy commented before letting his eyes inspect Spock's body with more scrutiny. The Vulcan watched him cautiously. "Spock, you using that salve I gave you?" he asked inquisitively.

"Affirmative, Doctor." Was it not obvious? Most of the bruises were gone now.

"What about on these bruises on your back here?" McCoy furthered and indicated to Spock's back. Spock's heart sank. He had forgotten about those, which was an entirely separate issue on its own. He should not be forgetting about anything.

"I regret that there were several bruises that I was unable to reach with my arms," Spock admitted and tensed when Dr. McCoy fingered one of them, his objective concern doubling in its strength from the contact.

McCoy nodded minutely and straightened back up. Fortunately, his hand went with him. "That makes sense. I'll use the dermal regenerator on them before you leave," he stated before marking something else off on the medical PADD. "Okay," he started and brought his eyes back up meet his. "Let's get you on the scale then. Moment of truth," he ordered in a foreboding voice before indicating to the weight scale just off to the right of the bio-bed; a scale that the doctor had brought out at the beginning of the examination.

Spock nodded and stayed silent while he slid off the bed and stepped onto the scale. As he waited for the number to appear, he mentally recalled every meal he had eaten since coming back onto the ship. It didn't make him confident at all. He really had not consumed much, but hopefully, it will have been enough to at least put back on a fraction of the weight he had lost. The goal was to show improvement. If the scale did not show that, then Spock feared being kept of duty for even longer.

After the week he had had, Spock wanted nothing more than to get back to his routine. Hoping desperately that the distraction of his duties would help alleviate some of his problems.

"Well, you've gained a pound and three ounces, Spock. I would have liked to see two pounds, but I'll take what I can get," McCoy sounded from beside him, and Spock almost let out a breath of relief at the news. Almost.

"Will I be cleared for duty, Dr. McCoy?" Spock asked immediately. He wanted—_needed_—his routine back.

McCoy sighed and marked something else down on his PADD. Spock watched him carefully. "Yes Spock, I will be clearing you for duty. I'll have Jim put you back on the roster for tomorrow if you are feeling up to it."

"I find that agreeable, Dr. McCoy. Thank you," Spock answered hastily, and felt nervous and eager at the same time to finally get back to work.

McCoy glared at him with narrowed eyes. "But I'm still going to be monitoring you, Spock. Weekly check-ups to make sure that weight keeps coming back on like it should. That means that I still better see an active diet card," the human declared in an authoritative tone.

"Of course, Doctor. Is that all?" Spock asked shortly. If he was going to be back on the bridge tomorrow, he wished to retire early to ensure he at least slept for longer than three hours. Then again, he still had to attend dinner later on this evening, which he wasn't looking forward to.

For a moment, McCoy didn't say anything. He just looked at Spock, and it was intense of enough to become uncomfortable. Finally, he sighed gently and walked slightly closer to him "How are you doing otherwise? I know Jim has been eating with you in the mess hall. How has that been?" the human asked shyly, which was unusual from the normally gruff doctor.

"I do not see how my personal relationship with the Captain is your business, Dr. McCoy," Spock answered coldly, making the human sigh again, only this time it was more out of frustration.

"Well, at least you admit that there's a personal relationship there…" McCoy let his voice trail off before adding, "what about the rest of the crew? Has anyone been giving you a hard time?" he asked, and Spock could sense his uncertainty in asking that particular question.

Spock raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Would you care to elaborate, Dr. McCoy?" he asked flatly, but the man was waving him down and walking to the other side of the room.

"Nevermind, forget I said anything. You're right. It's not my business," he asserted before he grabbed the dermal regenerator off of the counter and walked over to the bio-bed. Spock tensed at the image of what the doctor planned on doing, and almost blushed with chagrin at the involuntary action.

"Alright, Spock. Come back over here and take a seat. Let me put this thing to good use on these hard to reach places," McCoy commented tiredly.

Spock, who was still thinking about the doctor's last question, complied and walked back over to the bio-bed, telling himself with every step that the doctor was not S'teth, and that this should not bother him.

((oOo))

"I cleared Spock for duty this afternoon," Bones commented idly from his place across from Kirk in the doctor's office. The captain was hiding out there because he really didn't want to face the security department, who were still pretty pissed off at him for backing out of the game that had taken place a couple of nights ago. They hadn't actually said anything to him about it, but then again, he didn't expect them to. He was still the Captain. However, they didn't need to say anything. Eyes were capable of saying quite a bit.

When he'd told Hendorff earlier in the week, his Head of Security had _not _been happy about it. But there was nothing for it. The last thing Kirk had wanted to do was play some stupid game when his mind had been too preoccupied with so many other things. Things with pointy ears. He shouldn't let Spock affect him like that, but again, he just couldn't help it.

Hell, his mind was still preoccupied with pointy ears.

Kirk had been hunched over on the desk, his hot head pressed up against a cold glass of _water_, thank you very much, when Bones had stated his comment all casual-like; as if putting Spock back on duty was just an everyday occurrence.

"Do you think he's ready?" he asked warily, not being able to help the fatigue that crept into his voice. He really was tired. This week had been one of the most taxing weeks he'd had in a long, long time. His sleep schedule had gone to utter shit, and the three-a-days with Spock in the mess hall, as well as Securities little side-glances, hadn't made things easier either.

Bones took a large swig of his Surian brandy before answering. "He gained a pound and some odd ounces, so that's a step in the right direction considering the amount of time that's passed. I didn't see a reason to go on keeping him cooped up in his quarters. It's two days shy of an actual full week, but I really think he'll fair better if he's got his mind focused on something else besides..." Bones paused in thought. "Whatever he's focusing on," he finally finished.

_Well it's definitely not me he's trying to focus on, unless it involves the varying ways to avoid James Kirk, _Kirk thought bitterly before bringing the glass away from his forehead and nodding solemnly. "Yeah, maybe when he gets back to work, like you said, he'll start going back to normal," he responded, though the way his voice sounded was pessimistic.

"You sound like a ray of sunshine, Jim," Bones observed sarcastically before adding, "How has the rest of this week gone with him? I've been seeing you two eating together everyday. That's a good thing, right? I attempted asking him about it earlier, but as usual, he's as tight-lipped as a classified file from Starfleet intelligence."

Kirk glared at him. "I'm sure he was," he started bitterly before elaborating. "In the beginning when I first started eating with him, I really did think I might get through to him. But now I wonder if I'm just wasting my time…"

"Well, damn! What did he say to you?" Bones blurted out in disbelief. He had obviously been hoping that Kirk had gotten further than he had in his _meal times_ with Spock.

"That's just it, Bones!" Kirk started in exasperation. "He didn't really say anything! I mean, in the beginning I thought he might come around, but over the past two days…he's literally said nothing the entire meal. Absolutely nothing," he finished as hurt welled up within him.

"Are you pushing him too hard?" Bones asked in slight accusation.

Kirk glared at him. "No. Bones. Despite what you might think, I'm not. I've been nothing but patient, hoping that perhaps that would get him to open up, but it just hasn't been going like I thought it would," he ended depressingly.

Bones sat back and sighed. "Well, it's only been four days, Jim. Perhaps just wait a little bit longer."

"I'm trying, Bones. I really am," Kirk answered quietly, his eyes focusing on the desk. Being constantly ignored by his First Officer was taking its toll, and for the first time ever, Kirk wondered just how long his patience would last. The only thing keeping him at that table with Spock was the errant expression of emotion the Vulcan would sometimes exhibit when he thought Kirk wasn't looking. Over the past four days, Kirk had witnessed several different looks all ranging from discomfort to what he dared believed was pain.

It had been unsettling to see, but as much as he wanted to, Kirk had kept his silence. The Vulcan had stressed countless times his wish for silence.

For a moment, both humans just sat there pondering in silence. Suddenly Bones leaned forward in his chair. "I've got an idea," he stated with a slight hint of hesitancy.

"Of course you do," Kirk answered sullenly, making the man roll his eyes.

"Just hear me out, Jim," his friend implored. "I can tell Spock doesn't want to be in the mess hall. I'm right about that, aren't I?" Bones went onto ask.

Kirk peered up at him questioningly, wondering where this was going. "I can honestly say that, no, he doesn't like being in there. I think it's the crowds, and honestly I don't like him in there either, Bones. He's become some target for ship gossip and I'm about this far from blowing up on someone about it," he answered heatedly, and felt his cheeks redden at the memory of the conversations he'd overheard about Spock as well as all the stares he'd watched the Vulcan receive in the mess hall. He knew Spock had to have known, though he knew the Vulcan would never complain or own up to it.

Bones took on a regretful look. "Yeah, some of that gossip has even made it to my damn sickbay. To think that I'd seriously permit one of the crew to walk around with a fatal disease that was contagious? I mean honestly, Jim. I know rumors can get far-fetched but that's pushing it. I asked him if anyone was bothering him, but he just acted like he didn't understand what I was asking, so I just let the subject drop," the doctor pointed out sourly before moving on. Kirk had wanted to press that particular issue further. If people were bothering Spock, he wanted to know about it so he could correct it. But surely, Spock would come to him about that, if not just take care of such an issue himself. He was the First Officer, after all, and Kirk didn't see Spock standing for something as pathetic as bullying.

"I'm asking because I've been thinking about permitting him a replicator in his cabin capable of replicating meals instead of just simple things like drinks," Bones eventually managed to say.

Kirk gaped sharply at him. "You can do that?" he asked in disbelief. There was a reason why the replicators in the cabins were only capable of making beverages. For one thing, in designing a starship, the designers wanted to keep food replicators in the mess hall to encourage the crew to interact with one another in a non-work setting. If they were going to work together as a team, they needed to be able to get along with one another. The mess hall was the perfect place aside from the rec room and gymnasium where that could happen.

Plus, the replicators in the mess hall were much more advanced and larger than the simple ones in the cabins. The cost to outfit every cabin just wasn't feasible. However, this was the first time Kirk had become aware of the ability to put one in a cabin. He was seriously starting to regret not listening to Spock when it came to familiarizing himself with protocols and regulations when it came to living on a Starship.

"It's not a common thing, Jim. But yes, I have the power to do it. It's usually in severe cases like if a patient has something contagious, but it's not severe enough to warrant being confined to Sickbay. Or perhaps if they've been declared medically unfit and there are personal reasons revolving around it. Some people just don't need to be around crowds in those situations, Jim." Bones paused and leveled his eyes at Kirk. "I've been pondering ordering one to be put in Spock's cabin so he doesn't have to go to the mess hall. I've been pondering it for awhile actually, but after hearing some of those rumors make their way down here, it's got me really wanting to just go ahead and do it. I know it might look sort of bad to have Spock avoid the mess hall completely, and maybe I can make it mandatory for him to at least have on meal in there, but at this point, I really just want him to be comfortable as he goes back on duty, and listening to fucking childish gossiping can't be making him very comfortable. Vulcan or not," Bones finished in slight anger.

Kirk clenched his fists on the desk. For the past four days he'd watched Spock endure stare upon stare; rumor upon rumor (because he knew Spock had good hearing. He _knew_ Spock could hear the things being said about him.) For the past four days he'd watched Spock pick at his food in silence up close, and from afar, but with a body that was practically screaming to flee from the room. And the _whole _time Bones had had the power to relieve the Vulcan of that discomfort. Bones was angry? Hell, Kirk was the one that was angry right now. What in the ever-loving fuck.

"Care to explain to me _why _this hasn't been done? It was obvious from day one, Bones, that Spock didn't want to be in the mess hall. And this whole damn time you've had the power to give him a fucking replicator?" Kirk blurted out in anger, his eyes narrowed in disgust. He was also disgusted with himself for not even knowing about this possibility.

Instantly Bones' face turned red and he sat up straighter in his chair. "I have several reasons, Jim!" the doctor hissed, his eyes narrowed. "Firstly, if I'd done that to begin with, we would have been lucky to see Spock at all. You know as well as I do that the Vulcan would have used that replicator for _every _single meal," Bones paused and rubbed at his forehead tiredly with his fingers. He then fixed Jim with an imploring look. "I understand your frustration, believe me, I do, but in order to put him back on duty within a week, I needed to know if he could function in a crowd, Jim," he ended in a softer tone, an almost desperate one. It was as if he was ashamed of his decision not to give the Vulcan a replicator, but that he'd felt like he had no choice.

"I needed to be able to feel comfortable with letting him back on the bridge. I couldn't do that if he holed himself up in his room for the week. Was it insensitive? Yes, I'll give you that, but I couldn't have forgiven myself if I'd put him back up there with you, and he had some breakdown because I didn't see the signs. Sending him to the mess hall was one way to look for those signs. You and I have both seen that Vulcan lose his shit before," Bones continued knowingly, obviously referring back to the time that Spock had strangled Kirk on the bridge.

Yes, they both certainly knew how Spock could _lose _his shit.

Kirk felt some of the anger leave him at his friend's confession. He was still angry on Spock's behalf, but he had to admit that Bones had a point. With Spock spending most if not all of his time in his cabin recuperating, the only time anyone ever saw him was in the mess-hall, or in sickbay. As much as Kirk hated to admit it, Bones did have a point in wanting to make sure Spock could interact with the crew. He knew that the longer an officer was off-duty, the more at risk said officer was of being officially declared medically unfit. He knew that Bones had just wanted to take care of Spock while at the same time, prepping him to return to the bridge without tarnishing his record in the process.

Kirk let out a heavy sigh. Sometimes it still felt unreal that he and Bones were actually having conversations like this; conversations about whether or not Spock could handle being in his position as First Officer and Chief Science Officer. Conversations about his well-being and future. Bizarre didn't even begin to cover that feeling.

"He wasn't really that sociable, Bones," Kirk decided to admit. "So if you were wanting to see him interact in the mess hall, he really didn't," he added softly, knowing that he was basically throwing Spock under the bus, but it couldn't be helped. He felt sort of…_obligated _to tell Bones about Spock's anti-social behavior.

Bones nodded. "But he didn't freak out on anyone," he pointed out.

Kirk shook his head appallingly. "Of course not, Bones! Spock wouldn't do something like that," he defended, shocked that the doctor would think Spock would harm a member of the crew.

Bones raised an eyebrow at his outburst. "Again, I'll just remind you of that little incident on the bridge—,"

"That was completely different circumstances, Bones. It's not the same thing," Kirk cut him off icily. He still hadn't forgiven himself for the things he said about Spock's mother, and in his opinion, the Vulcan had had every right to kick his ass. But that had been completely different. Spock had not only just lost his mother, but he'd lost his entire fucking planet on top of all that. All in one day. That would make anyone want to strangle someone, even if they were a Vulcan.

"Look, Jim. I'm not saying Spock is capable of harming someone. Don't think that I am, but as a Doctor…I've got to watch these kinds of things. No matter how unlikely or outrageous they might be," Bones explained firmly, yet gently.

"I know, Bones. I'm not mad at you. This…" Kirk paused and glanced down at his lap. "This hasn't been easy. It hasn't been easy sitting across from Spock and not talking to him. It hasn't been easy to sit idly by while he ignores me, or cuts me off when I do try and talk to him. It hasn't been easy listening to the rumors floating around the ship that we're fighting, or that something is wrong with Spock," he finished in exasperation.

"I know, kid."

"I keep asking myself every time I walk into the fucking mess hall if I should just not even bother with it. He's pretending I don't exist anyway, so what's the point?" Kirk went on miserably, and hated how pitiful and pathetic he sounded.

"But that's just it, Jim. Despite everything you just said, you _are_ sitting there with him. You're doing exactly what I told you to do. You're being patient," Bones pointed out, prompting Kirk to look up at him. "Most people would not have bothered, but you did, and I know you think Spock doesn't care, but I'm willing to bet that underneath that Vulcan exterior…he does."

"No," Kirk started with a shake of his head. "He hates that I sit with him. I can feel it," he went on to argue.

Bones leveled his eyes at him. "Spock might hate a lot of things, Jim, but you're not one of them." He affirmed confidently, and oh how Kirk wanted that confidence for himself.

"Well, it's not gonna matter anyway because you're about to put that replicator in his room, right? So, we won't have to sit with one another and pretend to have a conversation that were not having," Kirk pointed out bitterly. While he supported the idea of Spock being able to take his meals in his quarters, he wasn't looking forward to not being able to see the Vulcan at meal times.

"That replicator will only be temporary, Jim. As soon as his weight is back to normal, he'll be back to eating in the mess hall. And, like I said, I might be making at least one meal mandatory. It won't look good to the crew for Spock to be absent all of the time from the mess hall," Bones pointed out.

"I thought you were giving it to him so he wouldn't have to endure the mess hall?" Kirk answered sarcastically. It seemed kind of stupid to give Spock a replicator, and then take it away once he'd regained his weight when the whole point was to make it easier on the Vulcan.

Bones sighed. "I am, Jim, but officially, that's not going to be the reason. I'll have to put in his file that he's getting the replicator so that he will have access to more food given his malnourishment. In other words, so that he can eat more frequently and at his own convenience. I could give him approval to eat on gamma shift hours, but again, that's putting him in the mess hall, and God forbid even more rumors start up because Spock is eating at vampire hours. If I put on there that Spock just wants to avoid people, well…" Bones let his voice trail off, "that's not going to look very good on his record. Therefore, as soon as his weight is back up, I'll be pulling it out. I'll have to, given the medical reasoning."

"I see," Kirk said quietly, and he couldn't fault the doctor's logic. Bones was trying to help Spock as secretly as he could without garnering the Vulcan extra, unwanted attention. Kirk had never realized just how much his friend cared for Spock until this past week.

Bones sighed. "Besides, he doesn't need it that long anyway. I'm only doing this so that he doesn't overstress himself after being on that planet during his first week back on the bridge. When that weight comes back on, he shouldn't _need _to eat his meals in solitude anyway. He should be able to eat them in the mess with every other officer."

Kirk couldn't help but agree. "When are you going to tell him?"

"Probably right after this. It shouldn't take that long to have someone from engineering bring it up and put it in his quarters. Plus, I need to explain that it's only temporary, and that as soon as he gains that weight back, I have to pull it."

Kirk couldn't help the way his face fell. Despite the fact that the meal times in the mess hall were going nowhere, he had to admit that at least sitting across from Spock was comforting. However, Spock's comfort mattered more at the moment, and if this would possibly help him perform better on the bridge tomorrow, then the captain was all for it.

"I'd have you tell him, Jim. I know you're trying to get him back in your good graces, but this conversation is going to require me to touch on the malnourishment, and just _why_ I'm putting it in his quarters. If you tell him, he might…"

"See it as a breech in his privacy. I know, Bones," Kirk finished sourly.

"I wasn't going to say that. Hell, he already knows you know about his weight issue. I was going to say that he might take it as you trying to signal to him that you _don't _want him in the mess hall with you. Therefore, I'm taking one for the team and being the villain here," Bones corrected.

Kirk laughed hollowly. "Villian? You'll probably become his favorite person for giving him a reason not to have to sit with me. He'll probably be thanking you," he blurted out resentfully.

Bones sighed. "I highly doubt that, Jim. And, who knows…he might ignore the replicator altogether. Just because he's not really speaking with you in the mess hall doesn't mean he doesn't like sitting with you."

Kirk stared at him.

"I'm being serious, Jim. I'm telling you, that Vulcan doesn't hate you, despite what you think," Bones defended, but Kirk was already shaking his head and getting up from the chair. He needed a cold shower, and then he need to change the roster for tomorrow to include Spock, and _then_ he needed to prepare himself for the dinner that was either going to make or break his evening.

"Whatever, Bones. I hope it goes well. I need to go and change the roster for tomorrow. Hopefully, Spock getting his head back in the game will help bring him around, as you said," Kirk commented in an attempt to just change the subject to something hopeful before he left.

"I really do think it will, Jim. Don't think about this too hard. Like I said, I bet Spock still shows up at dinner, and if he doesn't…well…I wouldn't take it personally. Everyone needs time to themselves. Spock's is just long overdue maybe."

"Yeah, maybe," Kirk responded quietly before turning and walking out of the sickbay. He could feel Bones' eyes on him every step of the way.

After the roster change, and the shower, Kirk headed to the mess hall, his steps heavy and laden with dread.

He couldn't help how that dread turned into hurt when he took a seat at the table he'd been occupying with Spock over the past few days, and watched in solitude as it remained Vulcan-less the entire time. Obviously, the replicator conversation had gone over well between Spock and Bones. He shouldn't feel hurt. Bones had said that Spock just needed some time to himself without the crowds of the mess-hall, but he just couldn't help feeling disappointed, and sick inside.

Several times, the bridge crew—which had been sitting a few tables away—eyed him with sympathy but he just didn't think he could sit around them at the moment. Kirk didn't think he'd ever felt more alone then he did sitting at that lonely, godforsaken table, and despite feeling optimistic at Spock's return to the bridge tomorrow morning, he couldn't help but feel anxious and wary. He had no idea how he was going to handle himself around this new version of Spock. No idea at all.

After dinner, Kirk shuffled back to his quarters, completely unseeing of those around him. Once inside, he took a moment to lean his back against the door and the sigh the days emotions away. Once his moment of self-pity had passed, Kirk carelessly pulled off his shirt, thrust it to the floor and walked into the shared bathroom only to come face to face with Spock.

The Vulcan was standing there, completely dressed for bed in a pair of Starfleet flannels that Kirk hadn't even been aware they _had, _and rinsing his mouth out with water. Judging by the tube of toothpaste lying on the counter, he had just finished brushing his teeth.

"Sorry," Kirk started hastily, aware of the blush creeping up on his face. The last time he'd walked in on Spock had been a horrible experience, and not one he wanted to repeat. "I should have knocked. I'll just come back in when you've finished," he finished with an air of chagrin and attempted to turn and walk out.

The Vulcan cadence, however, stopped him.

"That is not necessary, Captain. I am nearly finished. I am not averse to sharing the bathroom with you," Spock managed softly, much like the time he had told Kirk that he could sit down at his table.

Kirk slowly turned back around. "You sure?" he prompted nervously.

Spock raised an eyebrow and stared. That was answer enough.

"Of course you are. Sorry," he muttered and came into the bathroom to stand next to Spock. He could see the Vulcan tense next to him in the mirror, which just made everything awkward.

"Uh," he started and tried desperately to think of something to say. "Missed you at dinner," he decided on and grabbed for his own toothbrush.

Spock tensed again, but Kirk made no indication that he noticed. When the Vulcan didn't answer him, Kirk decided to change the subject. "You ready for tomorrow? Bones told me that he had cleared you for duty."

"I recently saw the changes you made to the roster, Captain. I can assure you that I will report to my post and carry out my duties sufficiently," Spock answered shortly, obviously misinterpreting what Kirk was trying to say.

"Spock, I have no doubt you will perform _sufficiently_. I've never been worried about your efficiency on the bridge. You know that," Kirk deadpanned. He had to admit he was slightly offended that Spock would assume he had that little faith in him.

"Your confidence in my abilities is noted, Captain Kirk. I will be sure to not disappoint you," Spock added in that Spockian tone, and for a moment he sounded like the old Spock. The one he'd known before Altriri IV.

"Well, just don't push yourself too hard, Spock. It hasn't even been a week and I don't want you stressing yourself off. I'm sure Bones gave you the same speech," Kirk commented idly and spread toothpaste onto his brush.

Spock blinked at him and placed his hands behind his back which emphasized the blue flannels to a satisfying degree. Kirk had to admit, seeing Spock in flannels was different. Cute, even. Before he could stop himself, Kirk decided to say as much. After all, it was something he would have done a month ago, and old habits died hard. "I have to say, Spock. Those flannels look good on you. I didn't even know we had those," he pointed out with a Kirkian smile before putting his toothbrush into his mouth. Maybe if he spoke to Spock how he used to, the Vulcan would let his guard down a little. Plus, the captain had to admit…he missed talking to Spock like that.

Rather unexpectedly, the Vulcan in front of him stiffened, and instead of leaving his hands behind his back, abruptly brought them forward and clasped them in front of his torso, almost as if he was hiding something. "If they interest you that much, Captain, perhaps you can request a pair if you do not already have one. Good night," Spock pointed out in an oddly blank voice, turned around, and all but shot out of the bathroom, leaving a dumbfounded Kirk staring after him with a toothbrush in his mouth and toothpaste sliding down his chin.

What the fuck had he said wrong?

Once back in bed, Kirk couldn't help by lie awake for an additional three hours just imagining how the day was going to go tomorrow. He had been sort of excited about having Spock back on the bridge, but now he was starting to dread it, and oddly enough, he couldn't help the sense of foreboding that had overtaken him after the exchange in the bathroom.

_Don't worry about it, Jim. As Bones already said, he just needs to get back in the saddle, and everything will go back to normal,_ he told himself in an attempt to finally get to sleep.

**A.N. I know this miscommunication probably feels overwhelming, but again, if it does then I'm doing my job because I want you to feel that way. I want you to feel frustrated at the lack of Kirk and Spock just not telling each other how they really feel (especially Spock) The name of this chapter comes from a lyric from the song, "How to Save a Life" by the Fray. It's perfect for Jim's feelings as they pertain to Spock, and honestly, it could have been the title of this fic. The lyrics are perfect. **

**I hope everyone enjoyed this! I did NOT intend for Arc 1 to be this long (over 100k) It was literally like 30k in my roughdraft and it just blew up from there. One more chapter to come, and then it's onto Arc 2. I might be able to update by Sunday. It depends on how prolific I am in editing the next chapter though. Hope everyone enjoyed and now it's back to my finals! Fingers crossed here! **


	10. Alone I Break

**A.N. Hi everyone! It's Sunday! And as promised, here is the next chapter—and **_**last**_** chapter—of Arc 1. I do plan on expanding the events in this chapter in the next one to include Jim and Bones' POV, but this chapter will be from Spock's only. I want to thank the people reviewing, and some of these reviews I've gotten have just been amazing and very thought provoking. I love the reviews like that. **

**There is also something I wanted to address, but I'll wait till the ending AN to address it. You can read it if you wish. Again, this is not beta'd. All mistakes are my own, and if you find one, feel free to let me know so I can correct it! **

**There is a non-con warning for this chapter, but again, I put the XXXX's up and I will summarize in the AN for those that would rather skip past it. Please enjoy! (well, as much as you can given the content of this angst fest)**

**Chapter Ten**

**Alone, I Break**

Spock had just been about to ready himself for dinner when a chime came at his door.

"It's McCoy, Spock," the accented voice sounded.

The Vulcan permitted himself a moment of perplexion. The examination had already taken place earlier today, and he could not think of another reason why the doctor would choose to visit him at this moment. Dinner had not started yet, so surely the human had not come to chastise him for missing it.

Ignoring his pulsing temple, Spock got up from his desk where he had been attempting to catch himself up on reports, and opened the door, his eyebrow elevated. "Are you in need of assistance, Dr. McCoy?" he asked placidly, and oddly enough, the other man rolled his eyes and pushed himself inside despite an official invite. Spock resisted the urge to push him back out.

"No. I've come to talk to you about your meals, Spock," McCoy answered just as he came to stand in the middle of the room, his eyes casually scanning the Vulcan's quarters.

"What is there to discuss? I have been attending every scheduled meal in the mess hall per your medical instructions, Doctor. You can refer to my diet card to validate that, or you may inquire to Captain Kirk who would no doubt be privy to such information," Spock said dismissively, and wondered what the doctor could possibly wish to discuss about his meals. He was already eating, and obviously gaining weight per his examination. Was that not enough? Was nothing ever enough?

"Yeah, about those scheduled meals…" the doctor let his voice trail off awkwardly before continuing. "There's something I'm going to do for you, and the real reasoning needs to stay between us, Spock. I could lose my license for falsifying medical records."

Spock straightened up at that, and placed his hands behind his back. "Perhaps you should relay to me the _reasoning_ before I agree to such a thing," he answered tightly. He had already struck one deal that had ended up costing him more than he could bear, and he was still working on keeping his deal with the captain to attend meals together. He was not so inclined as to strike up another so quickly.

"Am I right in saying that the mess hall makes you uncomfortable?"

"…"

The Vulcan felt his jaw twitch.

McCoy leveled his eyes at Spock's silence. "Spock. Am I right? Does going to the mess hall make you uncomfortable?" the doctor furthered in a slightly more belligerent tone.

Spock's instinct was to answer in the affirmative, because yes, attending the mess hall _was_ uncomfortable to Spock; physically, emotionally, and mentally. However, to admit that to the doctor was unacceptable, and would only succeed in rousing suspicion.

"Negative, Dr. McCoy. The mess hall does not make me comfortable nor does it make me uncomfortable. I am Vulcan," he answered stiffly, and hoped that the subject would drop.

Things were never that simplistic though.

"Bullshit, Spock. I don't need to be Jim to know that going there is hard on you," McCoy deadpanned and crossed his arms. Spock could feel the doctor's irritation, which did his head absolutely no favors.

"Are you inferring that the captain has been informing you that I find the mess hall uncomfortable?" he asked with a hint of accusation. He had failed in keeping his discomfort away from Jim, given that they shared the same table, but he had hoped that Jim might keep such things to himself. Apparently, he had been wrong. Jim had obviously relayed his observations to McCoy.

Thus why the doctor was here now, and wishing to place a replicator in his room so he would not have to face the reality of his life.

McCoy sighed loudly and looked away in exasperation before coming back to meet his eyes. "No, Spock. Jim hasn't been _tattling _on you, for Christ's sake," he spat in disdain.

"Then what has given you the conclusion that I am uncomfortable in the ship's mess hall?" Spock blurted out, aware that his voice had risen slightly. Dr. McCoy seemed to take notice of the growing volume of his voice, because he instantly frowned and took a deep breath.

Spock chastised himself for his slip in emotion.

"Look, Spock. I didn't come here to fight with you. It doesn't take a genius to see that you're trying to be in there as little as possible, and I won't pretend to know the reason. Perhaps it's just fatigue, but in any case, I didn't come here to call you out on it," the doctor explained in a much gentler voice.

"Then what is your purpose here?" Spock bit out.

"Jesus, Spock. Could you be any more direct?"

"Again, Dr. McCoy, I am Vulcan. I do not waste time participating in frivolous small talk."

McCoy sighed heavily, very heavily, before answering. "I've been thinking about your situation, Spock. And I've decided to approve you for temporary use of a food replicator in your quarters."

Spock, whose mouth had been opened, shut it quickly and canted his head. He hadn't been expecting that.

"You wish to place a replicator capable of providing a food source in my personal quarters?" Spock asked a second later, wanting to be sure he had not _misheard_ the doctor.

"Yes, Spock. I think that the mess hall might be doing more harm than good given your level of stre—,"

"I am not stressed, Doctor—,"

"Your _level _of _stress_, Spock," McCoy enunciated in a rush to cut him off, an obvious glare in his eyes. "Despite how non-existent you claim it is, I'm going take my chances that you're wrong, and that I'm right," he paused and stepped closer to Spock, his eyes becoming softer and so accusing. "I'm trying to help you out here, you stubborn ass. It would only be temporary, as I would have to specify in your medical record that I'm approving it for weight gain purposes. Anything more severe than that, and it becomes more serious on paper," the doctor finished, his gaze imploring.

And it would be helping him out; of that much the Vulcan was certain. If Spock could stay in his quarters and eat his meals, then perhaps his head would not hurt him so much, and he would be able to gain enough peace and calm to attempt meditation.

But…

If he could not even exist in the mess hall, then how did he expect himself to function adequately on the bridge? Or the lab, for that matter? In addition to those glaring concerns, there was also the issue that the captain had brought up two days ago; the issue of crew morale declining because of his anti-social behavior toward Jim as well as everyone else. Would taking his meals in his quarters not logically cause that morale to continue decreasing?

As much as he would like to take his meals in the privacy of his quarters, he knew that he could not. Not with those issues staring him in the face.

"Dr. McCoy," Spock started, and brought his hands back around to his front. "While I do appreciate your attempt to aid me in any way you can, I cannot agree to having a replicator brought into my quarters. It is not needed and would no doubt be a waste of the Engineering Department's time in bringing one up for my personal use. I am perfectly capable of consuming my meals in the mess hall," he went on to explain in as amicable a tone as he could manage.

It was difficult, declining such an offer. Especially when the human had just admitted that he was planning on falsifying the medical reasoning for why Spock would acquire one. Yes, he was still underweight, but Dr. McCoy was wanting to give him one for the sole purpose of his peace of mind; for his…_comfort_. If he accepted the doctor's proposal, then he could possibly not have to endure the mess hall this evening, and thusly give his migraine a chance to subside for just a little while.

The chance for a pain-free evening was very tempting, but his duty to the ship came before his personal needs. He could not allow crew morale to fall any further by disappearing from the mess hall entirely.

"Spock, is that what _you_ want? Or is that invincible, logical Vulcan side of you shining through," McCoy accused gently.

_Invincible? Hardly_, Spock thought in disdain before nodding briefly. "Affirmative, Dr. McCoy. I do not require a personal replicator. Now, if it does not offend you, I need to prepare myself for dinner," he answered stiffly, and inside his human half screamed at him for not just taking the offer. He was not looking forward to the crowds, nor the endless staring the night before he was to go back on duty.

McCoy stared at him for fifteen seconds before letting his shoulders drop; a sign of resignation. "Okay, Spock. If you don't want it, I'm not going to force it. However, just in case you're pulling my chain, and you _do_ need a break from the 'chaos' of the mess hall," Spock raised an eyebrow when McCoy placed air quotes over the word, 'chaos'. "You can go ahead and stay here for dinner. I think people can handle one meal without you. You can use the extra private time to get ready to get back to work tomorrow. Sleep or whatever."

Spock should have declined, but given what he had just turned down, _that _particular offer was just too tempting.

"I might do that, Doctor. I could use the extra time to finish going over the reports that I have missed in my absence," Spock answered, as if that was the real reason.

Dr. McCoy's jaw twitched, and Spock got the feeling that there was more the human wanted to say, but was refraining. Finally, he sighed and headed to the door. "I'll bring by a couple of nutrition bars by in about thirty minutes, that way you at least have some incoming calories tonight in case you decide to stay here," he added just before the door slid open.

"Thank you, Dr. McCoy," the Vulcan answered softly, and watched as he went through the open door, the chance for a private replicator going with him.

Staying true to his word, McCoy came by within the next hour and dropped off two vegetarian nutrition bars. Spock accepted them with a 'thank you,' and as soon as the man was gone again, placed them on his nightstand. He was not hungry, and he told himself he would consume one later when he wasn't trying to go over the massive amount of reports in his inbox overly crowded inbox. It bothered him that his inbox was in such disarray, and even more so that he had allowed it to become like this. These reports should have been sorted through and reviewed in the first two days he had returned.

Instead, he had been weak, and ignored it.

Eventually Spock was forced stop sorting through his inbox so that he could ready himself for bed. It was still quite early by his standards, but he couldn't help the overwhelming exhaustion that had settled over him.

Instead of wearing his usual sleep wear, Spock opted for the blue flannels. They were warmer and thicker than his usual sleep attire, which made them all the more appealing. Instead of changing in his bedroom though as he used to do, he changed in the closet. Ever since his nightmares involving his bedroom had started, he just couldn't bring himself to change in there anymore. The closet was a small space, and was effective in keeping him obscure and closed off. Illogical as it was, he felt far safer in it than in his own bedroom.

He couldn't avoid the bathroom forever though as much as he wanted to, and after he was changed into his flannels, he made his way into said room to brush his teeth. Perhaps if he made haste, he could avoid Jim.

Fate obviously had other ideas as far as Jim was concerned, for the captain himself entered the bathroom just as Spock was about to finish. Immediately Jim apologized for interrupting him, and made to leave; a wave of embarrassment passing from him and into Spock.

The Vulcan wasn't sure why he did it, but instead of letting the human walk out, Spock invited him to stay. Perhaps it had been because of his feelings of guilt for not attending dinner with the captain, despite the deal they had made. Or perhaps he just wished to look upon Jim's face. He wasn't sure.

To his relief, _and_ to his disappointment, Jim decided to stay, and set to brushing his own teeth. Spock couldn't help but tense when the captain suddenly got very close to him in that pursuit. It was an involuntary reaction, and one that he should be able to control, yet as always, was continuing to fail at.

"Uh," Jim started, and Spock could tell by the nervousness the human was exhibiting that he was deciding on an appropriate thing to say. Of course, Spock didn't need to be able to read Jim's emotions to discern such a thing; for the red tint that had overcome his face said enough. "Missed you at dinner," Jim finally finished, and Spock couldn't help but wince as an entirely new wave of nervousness—this time more severe—slammed into him. Why was Jim so nervous? Was it about Spock? Was he scared to be around him? Given these assumptions, Spock could not find the strength to request that Jim elaborate because if it was…

"You ready for tomorrow? Bones told me that he had cleared you for duty," Jim went on at his silence, and suddenly Spock knew why Jim was nervous. His anxiety was obviously coming from the apprehension of Spock returning to duty. Perhaps Jim did not think Spock would be able to handle it, and thusly, was uneasy about having him on the bridge with the rest of the crew, and in such an important position no doubt. As hurtful as it was, Spock could not help but silently agree with him.

Jim did not have to know that though.

"I recently saw the changes you made to the roster, Captain." That was a lie, he hadn't seen the changes yet, but the Spock he used to be would have seen them, and he wanted Jim to be confident in him. "I can assure you that I will report to my post and carry out my duties sufficiently," he finished shortly, and again, wanted to instill in Jim that yes, he _could_ carry out his duties. He had to.

He watched as Jim frowned indifferently at him. "Spock, I have no doubt you will perform _sufficiently_. I've never been worried about your efficiency on the bridge. You know that," the human deadpanned in a mildly offended tone.

_You were not worried about my efficiency as a diplomat either…_he thought guiltily before responding. "Your confidence in my abilities is noted, Captain Kirk. I will be sure to not disappoint you," he added in a voice that used to sound like the one he used so long ago.

Spock didn't miss the soft glint that flitted across Jim's eyes at his answer. "Well, just don't push yourself too hard, Spock. It hasn't even been a week and I don't want you stressing yourself out. I'm sure Bones gave you the same speech," the captain commented casually as he spread toothpaste onto his blue tooth brush.

Spock eyed Jim's hands which appeared slightly worn from years of outdoor work no doubt, before he brought his eyes back up to the captain, who was eyeing him in return, _thoughtfully_.

The Vulcan blinked in response, stiffened, and placed his hands behind his back. He hadn't prepared for such an intense gaze. Jim broke eye contact, and gazed at his flannels. A moment later Spock was surprised as a faint hint of arousal flitted into him. He had felt such emotions before from two other beings in his life, but given his most recent experience with one of those two beings, he couldn't help but feel the beginning of panic surge through him.

Panic and confusion.

Why would Jim feel aroused by him? It was completely illogical and laughable to think about. For one thing, Spock was almost certain that Jim preferred females, and, the Vulcan could not fathom Jim feeling such things for him. Yet, here the captain was, experiencing such feelings…_toward _him.

Perhaps Jim had already been aroused before entering into the shared bathroom, and it mattered not whether the other was male or female. However, it didn't matter to Spock. For he did not wish to be the receiver of such primal emotions.

Arousal led to pain, and pain led to misery. It was…_terrifying_ to have Jim feel in such a way for him, even if the level of that feeling was only miniscule compared to S'teth's own arousal toward him.

"I have to say, Spock. Those flannels look good on you. I didn't even know we had those," Jim pointed out with that smile that could warm Spock's heart in an instant—only, this time, it didn't have that effect. Instead, it made him even more nervous, more afraid.

_You look so exquisite in this garment, my Vulcan. I will enjoy taking you with it on. _Yes, S'teth had mouthed very similar words about his meditation robe, and despite hating himself for it, Spock could not help but compare his words, with Jim's words now.

Feeling illogically vulnerable, Spock instantly brought his hands out from behind his back to cover his front in an instinctual protective gesture. He could feel Jim's abrupt bemusement at the gesture, and Spock inwardly cursed himself for being so obvious about his petty emotions. Feeling that the situation could not be salvaged, Spock decided to end their conversation, especially since his emotions seemed to be getting more and more out of control.

"If they interest you that much, Captain, perhaps you can request a pair if you do not already have one. Good night," he pointed out as calmly as possible, and resisted the urge to run from the bathroom. He could feel Jim's confusion and hurt like the sandstorms that used to occur on Vulcan, but it could not be helped. He did not wish to be in Jim's company if all he was going to do was compare him to S'teth. It pained him that when the door slid shut, he could still feel the captain's hurt bubbling through said door, and it frustrated him.

Why? Why would these emotions not leave him? Why could he not escape them? Why had his father not taken the time to teach him how to handle these should something like this happen? Why had no one taken that time? Why?

S'teth was not Jim, and Jim could certainly never be the vile being that was S'teth. Yet, for a brief moment, they had nearly been the same in the aspect that they could bring forth those same, confusing emotions.

To draw comparisons between them was appalling to the Vulcan, and he did not understand why he had even done it to begin with. What would Jim think had he known who Spock had just compared him to? It was enough to make him nauseas, and of course with the new influx of emotions, his head throbbed anew, making him whimper as he grabbed at his temple to coax the new migraine back into submission.

Wishing to save himself from further pain, Spock ordered the lights at twenty percent. It seemed that when his migraine was at its worst, light was only detrimental, and caused him more agony.

The room sufficiently darker, Spock went back into his closet, all but tore his flannels off, and settled for clean gym attire; sweat pants, and a long sleeved black sweat shirt. He couldn't bring himself to wear the flannels, as comfortable as they were.

Knowing that it would be futile to look at reports now, Spock shuffled over to his bed and situated himself under the covers. His head pounded as he laid himself down, and, try as he might, he could not rid himself of Jim's emotions. Perhaps the wall between them did not matter. Perhaps it was enough that Jim was literally only a room away. This was unfortunate, and painful.

Desperately, Spock took his pillow and placed it over his head to at least put one more thing between him and Jim. It didn't help, but at least his entire body was covered now, and he could focus on willing himself to go to sleep.

It took a long time, but eventually, his body bent to his will, and drifted off into the land of nightmares.

((oOo)) **XXXXXXXXXXX**

"_I want to do something different tonight. I want you to show me how much you desire me, how much you want me," S'teth cooed from his prone, naked position on the purple pallet, his body shining with the oil he had had Spock rub onto his golden skin minutes prior, the oil that still lingered with a slight sting on the Vulcan's trembling hands. _

"_What is it that you wish of me," Spock answered blankly from beside the large Altririan, his own body quite naked. Yet unlike S'teth, Spock could not stop from shivering. The room was warm, but it seemed to have no effect on the physical state of his body, which always felt cold around the priest. Spock suspected he shivered out of fear, that his physical response was the result of a mental stimulus. He was not sure which part of him was more afraid though; his body? Or his mind. _

"_It seems that I am always the one doing __**the work**__, my Vulcan. I am always the one showing the affection," S'teth stated in disappointment, yet pressed his large hand on top of Spock's thigh where he began rubbing it obscenely close to the Vulcan's groin. Spock inhaled quietly and permitted his eyes to briefly close. If they stayed closed too long, S'teth would become upset. Spock did not want him to become upset. The consequences would be too great. _

"_I am sorry," Spock answered softly and willed his body not too tense up as the Altririan began fondling him shamelessly, as if he was nothing more than an object. _

"_Oh, do not apologize, Spock. My wish is simple, and well-deserved, I think. I want you to come sit on me. I wish for you to move against me tonight. I wish for you to show me how much you desire me…"_

"_Please," Spock started before he could stop himself. It was one thing to lie still while the priest had his way, but to initiate the sensations himself? He did not think he was capable of such a thing. "I cannot," he finished, knowing that his protest would be in vain, if not dangerous. _

_A wave of irritation surged through him from S'teth, and he knew that it would only be a matter of seconds before that irritation turned into anger. "You will sit atop me tonight. I want you to impale yourself on my D'Vesha, and I want you to move as I would move you. You will do it, Vulcan. No one is here to save your mind from me should you not," S'teth threatened darkly, and squeezed Spock harshly; eliciting a sharp gasp from him. _

"_Please—," he started again despite the dangerous warning. He could not make himself do such a thing. He did not want to fall any further than he had already fallen. _

_A sharp pain in his head forced him to stop talking, and despite him being temporarily blinded, Spock knew what had happened. The priest had entered his mind. It had become easier and easier for the Altririan to do so given how close they had been around one another on the planet._

_Spock couldn't stop the cry that escaped him as the Altririan's large, menacing presence bulleted into his mind. It felt like his skull was being compressed from every angle. It felt like it might explode at any second. _

_But then it was over, and Spock could see again. _

_However, his mind still hissed and recoiled in newfound agony. Every mental encounter Spock seemed to have with S'teth left his mind feeling chronically worse. It was like, after the priest's mental presence would exit, he would take a piece of his mind with him._

_Spock was aware that he was hunched over, and cradling his head in his hands as the aftermath of such an invasion continued assaulting him; S'teth's large hand rubbing painful ministrations all the while into his naked, bruised back._

"_Shhh, my Vulcan. It will pass. If you please me, it will pass," S'teth started from above him as Spock stayed leaned over, his breathing erratic. "There now. I am sorry, but you made me do that, Spock. You make me hurt you when you refuse me. Why do you wish to anger me? Do you like to anger me? Is that not an illogical thing to do?" he furthered, and quickly Spock was shaking his head in the negative. _

"_No. No, I do not wish to anger you. I am sorry," Spock started quietly after he regained control over his respiratory rate. _

_A deep well of satisfaction rose up inside of the other, and Spock repressed a wince as a result of that as well. Satisfaction was supposed to be a positive emotion, but coming from S'teth, it could be taken as negative. _

"_Then…you will please me?" the alien asked knowingly, and Spock finally brought his battered head up to witness the golden body lie back down, stretch his long torso out on the pallet, and take himself in hand. A flair of arousal pushed into him, and Spock flinched from it. _

"_Yes," a strange voice that Spock didn't recognize answered despite the previous flinch. It was hard to believe that it was him saying such things. _

_S'teth smiled broadly, and stretched a hand out to him. "Then be a good Vulcan, and come please me." _

_Numbly, Spock felt himself get on all fours and close the distance between him and the naked priest. His body did not feel like his own, and for a moment, he wondered if he was even still in control of it as he did this horrible thing. _

_Once he had completed the distance, S'teth took his hand, the gesture doubling the intensity of every emotion in the room, and pulled his organ up; a clear indication of just where Spock was supposed to seat himself. He smiled at him again, and Spock's body felt unbearably heavy as he lifted a leg to straddle the large golden one. When he came back down, he couldn't suppress the sharp cry that escaped him as the priest gripped his hips and pulled his posterior down harshly and abruptly onto him; the sensation making him feel like he'd been split in two. It seemed that no matter ho many times he and S'teth engaged in this act, Spock could never acclimate himself to the priest's anatomy. Every encounter was as painful as the previous one. _

"_Ah, yes…" S'teth moaned in pleasure as his hips twitched beneath Spock. _

_The Vulcan did not respond. He merely sat there as he had been told to do, making sure to keep eye contact; S'teth's mental presence just on the outskirts of his own. _

_A surge of impatience flowed into him as his body remained placid, and it was twice as strong with the physical contact. "Go on, Spock. Show me how much you desire me."_

_Spock hesitated, and errantly he wondered what someone would think should they enter the room at such a moment only to find them in such a position._

"_Move!" S'teth barked and gripped Spock's hips roughly to help encourage the order._

_Spock winced as fingernails dug into his skin, yet he still could not move. He could not force himself to make the rocking motions that he knew the priest wanted. He could not carry out the images that flashed across his mind from the other in an attempt to show him what to do. _

"_You are angering me, Spock," the priest breathed out sharply, and Spock could tell by the growing pressure against his mind that he was about to attacked again, that he was about to be caused unimaginable pain. The Vulcan did his best to brace himself for the agony that was about to come. And sure enough, a moment later, the Vulcan's screams filled the room as S'teth shot into his mind yet again. The darkness returned, and all Spock could do was hope that it would soon end. That he would be freed from this agony, but it seemed to never end. _

_It went on and on and on and on…_

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

But then it was over.

Instantly, Spock sat straight up in his bed, and exhaled sharply when he realized that the ornate, exotic room was gone, as well as the naked alien that had moments ago been underneath him. In its place were the familiar grey walls of his quarters, and the familiarity of his own bed.

Oddly, there were beads of sweat rolling down Spock's face, and he could have sworn that the ache he had become so familiar with down on Altiri IV had come back to him, for there was a phantom pain in his posterior that had not been there when he had gone to bed.

Quickly, his wide eyes darted back and forth across the room to ensure that yes, he was alone. No one was there like they had been moments ago. No one was lurking in some dark corner, waiting to take him whenever he turned his head. The longer he sat there, waiting for something to happen, the more the phantom pain disappeared until it was completely gone. However, in its place came a wave of nausea that found Spock struggling to get out of his bed and into the bathroom as quickly as possible.

When the door slid open he was relieved to find it empty, but that relief was short-lived as he stumbled over to the toilet and vomited violently. His muscles clenched and seized in their attempt to bring something—_anything_ up and out of his stomach, but as Spock had not eaten anything since lunch the previous day, there was nothing digesting to bring forth into the toilet.

When the sickness passed, Spock let himself fall down onto the cold tile and held his head in his hands. The nightmares, he felt, were getting worse and all the more real. However, he had yet to have one like the one he had just had. Usually, his nightmares involved S'teth coming onto the Enterprise and attacking him, but this one? This one had been an actual memory, hence the reason for Spock's nausea. He could remember that particular night in his nightmare clearly, for it had been one of the most shameful, and agonizing encounters he had had with S'teth down on the planet. To have relived it again, and in such a realistic fashion had been just as bad as when he had lived through it the first time.

Knowing that he could not linger on the floor too long, lest his captain come in and find him, Spock pulled himself up, walked over to the sink and rinsed his mouth out despite his vomit being unproductive. His head pounded violently, and Spock wondered if he would ever build up a tolerance to it, if he would ever learn how to live with it should it come to that.

Not wishing to look upon himself any longer, Spock returned to his cabin, shut the door, and glanced at the chronometer. It was only 0045 hours, but he could not imagine himself going back to sleep despite the fatigue running throughout him. There was chance that once he did go back to sleep, he would find himself in that memory again and reliving that moment.

The fear of such a thing happening was enough to make it easy to ignore his exhaustion.

His Vulcan half told him to meditate, but knowing it would be pointless with such a migraine, Spock decided to sit down at his desk instead and power up his computer terminal. He then pulled up all of the reports on the lab experiments and research projects going on in the Science Lab that he had been looking over before bed.

He _was_ the Chief Science Officer after all, and he had a month's worth of work to catch himself up on. It would definitely be enough to keep him busy until his shift on the bridge was due to begin.

Plus, if he was immersing himself in reports, then he was not focusing on the anxiety bubbling within him at the aspect of just how his shift was going to go, specifically where certain people were involved.

((oOo))

When 0500 hours came around, Spock powered down his terminal and prepared himself for the day. He was not looking forward to breakfast, at all. But given that he had not accepted the replicator offered by Dr. McCoy, he knew there was nothing for it. He would have to go, or the doctor would relieve him of duty.

When he came into the mess hall at 0530, it was fortunately not as crowded as it had been the past couple of days. Perhaps the rumors surrounding him had started to become boring to the crew. He was not particularly skilled in the art of _gossiping_, but he did know that eventually, interest for a specific rumor decreased over time. He could only hope that that had happened in his case.

Surprisingly, Jim was not at _their_ table despite the deal he had made, and instead, was sitting back at their old table, the Alpha bridge crew surrounding him. As he walked further into the room, the occupants at the table finally noticed him, and Jim's eyes went wide with what could only be determined as shock. However, he masked it seconds later with an expression of impassive indifference.

Not wanting to stand at the entrance any longer, Spock made his way to the replicators, ordered his standard breakfast plus the additions that Dr. McCoy had requested he make, and made his way to the table along the wall, which thankfully, was devoid of red-shirted ensigns.

He had barely been seated for a minute when the familiar emotions of the captain began cascading through his mind; excitement, confusion, and…hope? A second later, Jim's golden shirt came into view as the captain sat himself down across from him, an obvious smile on his face.

Spock was unsure of what to say, given their last exchange, but fortunately he didn't have to, because Jim started speaking first.

"I'm surprised you're here this morning," Jim voiced casually, though Spock could tell from his emotions just how surprised he really was. _Startled _was the more correct term in this case.

"I do not see a logical reason for such surprise, Captain. I have been here every morning for the past four days. This will be the fifth," Spock answered shortly, and began setting his meal up. Jim was doing the same, though the Vulcan could tell that he had already eaten a good portion of his food. In fact, there wasn't much left to eat, and Spock wondered why he even wasted time in coming to sit with him when he was seconds away from being finished.

"Well…I just thought you maybe came here because of…" Jim let his voice trail off with a hint of insecurity.

"You thought I had taken Dr. McCoy's offer to approve me for the use of a personal replicator in my quarters?" Spock finished for him, for he could now tell why Jim was shocked. Obviously, Dr. McCoy had shared with him the entire idea before informing Spock. This annoyed him, for the doctor should not even be discussing these things with Jim unless they affected the safety of the ship.

Then again, perhaps in McCoy's eyes, Spock's health was being seen as a potential safety hazard to the ship. Such a thought was unsettling, and Spock couldn't help but stiffen as it coursed through him.

Jim swallowed. "Well, yeah. I mean, I figured you would be all for that, Spock. Privacy and all. I know you don't like being in the mess hall and so does Bones, apparently," the captain explained in chagrin, and glanced down at his nearly eaten food.

Spock stiffened. "I am relieved that you and the doctor feel so inclined as to discuss my personal affairs in your free time, Captain. I will enlighten you as I did Dr. McCoy. I do not require a personal replicator. I am perfectly capable of eating my meals in the mess hall. Just because I have chosen to do so in solitude now as opposed to in a group has no bearing on my mental state. I have already explained the logic behind such a decision, and find it tedious to have to continue repeating myself to various officers on this ship because of their incompetency. Now, if it does not inconvenience you, I would request that we finish our meal in silence. I wish to arrive at my station early, and the time wasted on conversing with you when it serves no logical purpose is detrimental to that goal," Spock finished crisply, and looked away before he could witness the wince on Jim's face at the blatant dismissal.

It was pointless though. He could still feel Jim's hurt regardless, and oddly enough, the hurt he was feeling now was different than before. It was strange to the Vulcan, but this time…that hurt felt more permanent.

"Fine, Commander." And that was that. Jim did not utter another word, and for the first time since that time in the mess hall when Dr. McCoy had eaten breakfast with Spock, the Vulcan could feel Jim's anger rising up to join his hurt.

Once Spock had arrived back at his station on the bridge, he was greeted with a chorus of, _"welcome back, Commander!"_ from the varying officers on duty. The only two officers that didn't bid him a _'welcome back'_ were Jim, and Nyota.

In fact, sitting next to Nyota on the bridge had been one of the most awkward and painful things throughout the entire shift. Perhaps it was because she was the closest person to him, and thus, her emotions were the most palpable. Whatever the reason, the entire time, he had barely been able to endure her constant feelings of frustration, worry, and impatience aimed toward him.

Errantly, Spock wondered why _impatience_ would be among her many emotions, but it wasn't like he could inquire to her about it, so instead, he carefully avoided her every glance and focused on his work at his station in hopes that it would draw his focus away from the constant pain in his head.

However, it never did. In fact, the migraine grew steadily worse as the hours went by. Sometimes he would become so engrossed in the pain that whatever scan he was currently running would slip from his mind. Completely forgotten in the midst of such agony.

"Mr. Spock. Did you hear me?" Jim's voice sounded worriedly during one of these ordeals; the sheer sound of his worry cutting through Spock's mental agony and drawing him back to the present.

Spock blinked three times before turning around to regard the captain.

To his shame, every face on the bridge was turned toward him in addition to Jim's. Some were looking at him in confusion, and some in concern.

"Spock," Jim started again, this time more softly.

For a moment, Spock was at a loss as to what to do. He had no idea what prior question—or order for that matter—the captain had voiced, and he did not relish the idea of asking the man to reiterate it. Not in front of everyone. Plus, he had absolutely no idea how long he had been unresponsive and lost in his own world of misery and agony. It could have been minutes for all he knew.

Despite wishing to assure his Captain that he _had _heard him, this was one question he could not lie himself around. As hard as it was, Spock pushed his panicked feelings down as best as he could, and straightened himself up in his chair. He could feel Nyota's eyes on the back of his head, her worry even more so.

"I apologize, Captain. I must answer in the negative. Would you would please rephrase your statement?" he asked as loudly as possible, though the actual words sounded meek and pathetic to his ears.

Across the room, officers turned and glanced uneasily at one another, and the sheer shock that hit him from all vantage points told Spock that his admission had disquieted them; had caused them to become suspicious. He had barely made it through his first shift, and already he had failed at avoiding suspicion. How pathetic.

Jim frowned at him, and it was a long moment before he came to his senses, cleared his throat, and answered. "I asked for a status report, Mr. Spock." It was stated quietly, and Spock could feel his worry across the room above all others; even Nyota's.

"Of course, Captain," Spock answered immediately, turned his body back in his chair, and did a quick scan. The light from the readings hurt his head, but he kept his face impassive. "All readings are normal, Captain," he stated as he turned back around in his chair and regarded the captain with an even gaze. Despite having given his answer though, Jim was still looking strangely at him, along with everyone else. For a moment, he felt like he had back in the mess hall over the past few days; a thing to be gawked at.

"I apologize for not being more attentive. It is unacceptable," Spock added quickly. Perhaps that was what Jim had been waiting on, an apology for making him repeat the same question twice. Not even an ensign would have made the mistake of ignoring the captain, much less a First Officer.

Jim, who appeared as if he'd gone into a daze of some sort, blinked rapidly and straightened up in his chair. "No need to apologize, Commander. I did ask pretty quietly. It's possible you didn't hear me," he answered quickly, but Spock knew a lie when he saw one, especially one from Jim. And judging by the new looks being exchanged across the bridge; everyone else knew he was lying as well.

Again, Spock chastised himself. The captain should not have to lie to cover up his mistakes. In fact, if Jim were following protocol, he could give him a reprimand if he saw fit to. Spock certainly felt as if he deserved one in light of such behavior, and he wondered, as the shift went on, if he would do something else to merit a reprimand.

Despite the migraine becoming increasingly worse throughout the shift, Spock used every available source of energy to focus on his readings. Several times, he would catch Nyota looking at him stealthily from her station; and if she wasn't looking at him, then Jim was.

It was tiring, wondering if was going to make another mistake, or if he was going to slip back into the sheer overwhelming agony of his migraine and thusly, miss another order or question. It was so tiring that by the end of Alpha shift, Spock was the first one into the turbo-lift desperate to flee the confines of the bridge. He could see Jim hurrying to give over the conn to the next officer; probably so that he might get right in the turbo-lift with Spock to ask whatever questions he probably had.

However, the doors closed just as the captain turned to get in with him.

Spock didn't miss the expression on his face though, that expression of resignation.

Once out of the turbolift, Spock made his way to the mess hall where he ate his food so quickly that by the time Jim had arrived, he had been a third of the way through with it. He inwardly prepared himself for another apology to give the captain when he inevitably decided to sit down at his table.

However, it was unnecessary. For Jim did not sit with him.

Instead, he sat with the rest of the Alpha bridge crew, and when Spock permitted his eyes to look over to the table, Jim would not look at him.

Again, Spock should be relieved at the captain's avoidance, but he was not. It was obvious that Jim was upset with his performance on the bridge, which probably only served to embarrass the captain despite the worry he had felt; or _thought _he had felt. Perhaps the worry was a self-fabrication on Spock's part. Perhaps Jim was not worried for him at all, and he only kept telling himself that because to believe that no one worried for him was like admitting that no one cared about him.

Such a thing was not logical. He was Vulcan, and thusly he should not rely on the _care_ of others to dictate his performance, or his day-to-day activities.

But it did, and it frustrated him to no end. On the one hand, he rejoiced in not being cared about, because if people cared about you, they took a deeper interest in the happenings of your life.

However, on the other hand, if they _did not _care, then consequently, what happened in one's life, especially a happening significant enough to cause an emotional or physical impact, would go unnoticed.

The dilemma Spock found himself facing more and more was…which hand did he wish to utilize? Logically, he knew which one, but emotionally? He could not deny that he _wanted_ to be cared about.

_Vulcans do not permit themselves to be ruled by emotions. They live their lives in accordance with what is logical, _Spock told himself as he worked to finish his meal. What he wanted, and what was needed, were two separate things. When would he learn to understand and accept that?

His return to the Science Lab had not gone much better for Spock. In fact, it had been more painful, and more daunting than on the bridge given the amount of work involved, and the sheer amount of people which occupied the varying labs he was in charge of.

Unlike on the bridge, which consisted of one station, in the Science lab, Spock was in charge of supervising various experiments and tests; most of which were far behind in terms of progress given his one month absence. He wasn't saying that his position as First Officer was not important. On the contrary, it was the most important position on the ship save the Captain's. But the work involved in being the Chief Science Officer was much more complicated and hands on. It used to be work he enjoyed doing. It was the _reason_ he had joined Starfleet when he opted not to attend the Vulcan Science Academy.

But now, the enjoyment and peace he used to attain in the pursuit of science just wasn't there anymore. Somehow and somewhere, he had lost his love for it.

When he wasn't pushing to get through an experiment, he was tending to his migraine. Several times he had had to excuse himself briefly to escape to the nearest bathroom so he could just be alone with his migraine, which seemed to throb with undying vigor. If anyone noticed the real reasoning for him constantly sneaking off, they had never commented.

By dinner time Spock had been ready to fall over with exhaustion when he entered the mess hall for his third and final meal of the day. Only one more meal before he could bury himself under his covers, and hope that when sleep came for him, he could endure it in peace, and not with the priest instead.

It was unsettling that he was this tired, and this exhausted, for he should be feeling better by now. But instead he just continued to feel weaker and weaker with each passing day aboard this ship. He had hoped that getting back into his routine would help put him back on the path to some sense of normalcy, and thusly, his mind would perhaps return to him.

_But if everyday happens as today has happened…_

Quickly, Spock shook his head to dispel the terrifying thought before it could gain momentum, and walked up to the replicator. When he acquired his food, he took his place at his usual, lonely table and tried to push his thoughts to one of the major experiments taking place at the end of next in Lab 4.

He could not permit himself to think about the other things. It had only been a day. A single day. That was hardly enough time to judge how he would fair back in his varying positions on the Enterprise.

And…

He refused to think about what it meant when Jim, for the second time today, _did not_ sit with him.

Throughout the rest of the week and into the next one though, despite Spock's forced optimism that things would get better. They did not. They got worse.

On the bridge, Spock had arrived late on two separate occasions, and while the real reasoning had been attributed to being affected by nose-bleeds which he had been forced to wait out in the nearest bathroom, his reasoning to Jim had been that he had been _immersed in the varying projects going on the science department. _

Spock had been able to feel Jim's disbelief at the excuse, and while it should offend him that his captain obviously thought of him as a liar, he felt he had no right to be offended. For, he _was_ a liar, wasn't he?

Knowing he had gone against protocol, again, Spock had apologized, and had fully expected to be given an official reprimand. It had not happened the first time though, and surprisingly, Jim had not reprimanded him the second time either.

Spock should have been elated that his captain was not giving him reprimands, but he knew if such behavior continued, the crew would start to question him, and whether or not he was showing favoritism toward Spock.

Being tardy hadn't been the only mistakes he had made, either.

Three times, and on three different shifts, Spock had neglected to pick up certain things on his scanners that he _should_ have picked up. The most major mistake had been an ion storm that the Enterprise had only narrowly avoided at the last minute, and only because Spock had caught his mistake just in time. No one had noticed his mistake. In fact, he had been officially commended for catching it, and consequently sparing the Enterprise a potentially dangerous situation.

However, Spock had known the truth. If he had been even a minute later in catching his mistake, the Enterprise might have very well been disabled, or destroyed, and all because of his inability to carry out his duty because of his weaknesses.

_You are so weak, Vulcan. _

The next two mistakes, while not having been as potentially dangerous as his failure to pick up the ion storm, had also gone unnoticed. And, if they _had _been noticed, Jim had made no move to bring them to Spock's attention.

His meals in the mess hall had continued to be carried out in solitude. Since that first morning back on duty, Jim had not attempted to sit with him again, and Spock made no move to correct the situation. He knew that, given Jim's own perception, sitting apart was not beneficial to crew morale. But he could not bring himself to sit at Jim's table with the people he used to be friends with. The people that now avoided him like the plague. Spock had wondered when his captain would grow tired of sitting with him when it gained him nothing, and obviously, that time had come.

Occasionally, Dr. McCoy would venture into the mess hall, and if he saw Spock sitting alone, he would very noticeably glare in Jim's direction before coming to sit with him under the premise of _making sure he ate more than a leaf of lettuce_. However, Spock could feel the doctor's worry for him, and he knew that McCoy was only sitting with him out of pity, and possibly out of a need to judge the competency of his mental faculties.

If it _was_ for pity, it was a pity he did not want, or desire.

If it was for questions of competency…well…at least the doctor was doing his job.

Despite his growing mistakes on the bridge, The Science lab had been where most of Spock's mistakes had been felt the most.

Given the more crowded working environment, Spock had to admit the growing difficulty he had started to have while working in the labs. It seemed that his head would hurt the most at these times, and several times he found himself snapping at the people under him for miniscule issues such as failing to move through an experiment fast enough.

It bothered Spock that he was permitting his chronic migraine to rule his emotions around the people who worked under him. They had not done anything to deserve it, and yet, he couldn't help himself. The pain had to go somewhere, and he found it going toward the people that deserved it the least.

This bad habit that he had formed had not gone unnoticed either. Several times during his shift in the labs he had overheard varying conversations about him; how he had changed; how he wasn't the same person from before. Spock had known they were just worried for him, for he had been able to feel it in their minds as they conversed quietly with one another, unaware that he could hear them so clearly. However it didn't stop him from snapping at them about it on one occasion.

"This is the science lab, not the mess hall. If you feel the need to pursue frivolous conversation and gossip, leave now because this lab has no place for illogical beings," he had spat to the one group he had had the misfortune of overhearing during an intense migraine. Given the intensity of it, his frustration and overwhelming feelings regarding it had been involuntarily pushed onto the lab at large; specifically the group of four Lieutenants he had overheard.

They had blushed scarlet at his loud verbal reprimand, which had garnered the attention of the entire lab, and immediately scattered whilst the rest of the room attempted to divert their attention back to their tasks, lest they become Spock's next targets.

There had only been one Lieutenant; a Lt. Hasling, who had still been regarding him with a clear expression of shocked worry.

Before Spock had been able to ask her why she hadn't resumed her duties, she stepped closer to him, and raised her finger to indicate his face. "Your nose, Commander," she had started softly so as not to gain the attention of the room. "It's starting to bleed," Lt. Hasling had finished in almost a whisper.

Sure enough, when Spock had touched his own fingers to his nose, they had come back stained with dark green blood.

"Thank you, Lt. Hasling. I ask that this remain between us. I have had an affliction which Dr. McCoy is treating, and do not wish it to become public knowledge," Spock had lied easily to her, hoping she accepted his word as truth, and kept what she had witnessed to herself. It had been and was imperative that Dr. McCoy not become privy to his nose-bleeds.

"Of course, Commander. Here," Hasling had replied in an understanding voice before handing him a sterile cloth from one of the draws of an examination table.

Spock had taken the cloth, and dabbed it over his nose before excusing himself quietly to go clean himself up in the bathroom.

It was after that episode that Spock really and truly began doubting his position on the Enterprise. What if the nose-bleed had happened on the bridge? Or in the mess hall with McCoy sitting right in front of him? How would he have explained that?

How long could he serve on this ship and keep these issues from becoming known?

It hadn't been until the end of the week though that Spock had made a potentially fatal mistake; the worst one yet.

It had been the major experiment scheduled to take place in Lab 4; an experiment in increasing phaser power by way of utilizing differing chemical reactions within a controlled and protected environment.

Usually, the Science Department did not work with weaponry, especially in the pursuit of advancing it. That had always been engineering, but it seemed that Admiral Marcus had implemented a lot of changes in the past six months to suit a more militaristic approach; one of them being an intense focus on advancing the weaponry on a Starship.

Spock had been in charge of making the calculations for the amount phaser power to be utilized in the reaction. He had elected himself for such a job because as a Vulcan, no one could make calculations as exact as he could; and in that case, calculations could mean life or death in such an experiment. Spock _always_ oversaw those responsibilities during experiments, and in the past year aboard the Enterprise, he had never once made a mistake.

Until that experiment.

It had been a simple mistake, the fact that he had miscalculated the percentages. He had overestimated them by a mere 3.2%.

But that miscalculation had triggered an explosion in the lab, which then triggered a bulkhead breach, which then triggered the potential for lives lost.

Fortunately, no one had gotten hurt, save a few minor injuries on three crewmembers that a dermal regenerator had been able to fix easily. And fortunately, no one had gotten killed either.

The breach had been small, and while powerful, everyone had followed protocol and the breach had been sealed within a minute and ten seconds. In fact, the mistake had been so small that, unless anyone had decided to investigate further, had gone unnoticed. The _phaser incident_, as the science officers had come to coin it, had been marked down to a mere bizarre turn of events. And, instead of being reprimanded and demoted, Spock as well as the other science officers on the scene, had been commended for their performance in the face of a potentially fatal situation.

But again, Spock knew the truth.

He, Spock the Vulcan, had made a mistake; and while small, it could have cost lives. It could have cost the ship. It could have cost _Jim's_ life.

That thought alone had made Spock shudder in fear while he had walked through the corridors long after dinner that night had ended. A dinner he had not even bothered showing up to. The doctor would chastise him for it later, but he would blame it on work.

Spock _never _made numerical mistakes. His math had always been flawless, and the only reason he had made that one had been because S'teth had been right all along.

_"You are no good to your ship now, and I __**know**__ you know this. Vulcan repression_ _cannot hide who you really are,"_

The priest, as much as Spock hated to admit it, had been speaking the truth that day. Spock was not any good to his ship, not anymore, and perhaps he never had been. As hard as he had been trying to hide his weaknesses from the crew; from his captain, it was obvious that he would not be able to, and to continue trying was not only selfish, but dangerous for everyone around him.

It was glaringly obvious to the Vulcan that he was medically unfit, damaged, and thus, not usable to anyone aboard a Starship. Worthless.

_Well, worthless except for one thing…_

That observation was the reason why four days after the _phaser incident_, Spock was currently breaking his promise to himself to avoid Jim's cabin after that last dreadful conversation that had ended in him receiving a chess board, and chiming at the captain's door an hour before the Enterprise was due to rendezvous with Starbase 16. He had spent the past four days coming to a decision, and now as he stood in front of the red door…he had finally come to one.

"It's open," Jim responded blearily from the other side after Spock announced himself.

Once inside, Spock briefly looked around to examine the quarters he had yearned to be inside of again. To his dismay, a lot of the captain's colorful decorations had disappeared, and Spock dared not glance in the direction of the table where the chess-set, the one sitting in Spock's closet now, had once been.

"Good evening, Captain," Spock greeted politely as he came to stand on the other side of the desk where Jim was seated, and once again reading through various PADD's like the last time Spock had entered the man's quarters.

In a past life, Jim would have smiled at him upon greeting, but Jim had not smiled once at him in the past week and four days. Spock hadn't expected him to now.

"What can I do for you, Commander?" Jim asked professionally, almost sweetly, as he placed a PADD on the desk and looked up to regard him. Despite appearing calm and collected, Spock could feel the nervousness from Jim to a palpable degree, and again, he was confused as to why.

Spock, who had a PADD of his own held under his arm, fluidly took it out, and handed it to Jim who stared at it in bemusement.

"Umm, I don't think I'm expecting any new reports, Spo-_Commander," _Jim corrected himself, and Spock couldn't help the pang he felt as his name almost left Jim's mouth. He had not heard his name spoken by anyone in nearly a week and a half now. Ever since Jim had stopped sitting with him again, there had never been a need to say his name, and on the bridge he had continued to refer to him as _Commander._ In fact, everyone had referred to him by his rank except for Dr. McCoy. The friends he had pushed away had stopped talking to him, therefore, there had never been an instance where his name would have come up on their lips either. To almost hear it again though, had been…warming. It meant that to someone, he was still a person deserving of a name, even if he still felt unworthy of one.

"This isn't one of those data compilations is it? You know I can barely stomach those," Jim commented awkwardly as he began to eye the PADD in Spock's hands warily.

Again, Spock felt a pang of longing hit him, for Jim's tone _almost_ sounded like it used to, carefree and humorous. It had almost been as if they were friends again.

"Negative, Captain. It is my resignation." It was best to be direct.

Jim's eyes widened and he looked sharply from the PADD up to Spock. "Resignation? The hell? Why?" he blurted out, and Spock was confused. The Captain almost sounded…upset. Surely though, he could have foreseen this happening. Jim was the Captain after all, which meant he was required to look at everyone's efficiency reports; especially those with high rank. Spock knew his efficiency rating aboard the ship had declined by 10% over the last week and a half. In fact, Spock was shocked that Jim had not come to him already and demanded an explanation for why his work continued to suffer. He certainly was within his rights to as a Captain.

"Serving aboard a Starship is no longer a pursuit I wish to endeavor in. Therefore, it is only logical that I resign my commission, and turn my skills to a more logical occupation," Spock answered placidly, his stance going rigid, his hands behind his back, and his eyes focusing on a spot on Jim's shoulder rather than his vivid wide eyes. He did not wish to bring up the mistake he had made in Lab 4 that had ultimately been the reason for his decision. Jim would know that such a mistake from the likes of him was extremely rare, which might lead to suspicion if the 10% drop had not already done so.

Jim gaped at him before dropping the PADD ungracefully on the desk. "I'm not accepting this, Spock," he deadpanned.

Spock finally permitted himself to glare at him.

"I am afraid you have no choice in the matter, Captain. You cannot force me to stay here against my will, and to do so would be illegal." Not that Spock was new to doing things of illegal nature. It was almost laughable that he was reprimanding his captain for such a thing.

Jim abruptly stood from the desk and glared back at him. "Look, Spock."

Spock's heart illogically fluttered at the name. Jim had said his name, and despite the tone, it had been music to his ears given the week he had just endured.

"Just because we don't…_speak_ as much as we used to, doesn't mean you have to leave the ship! You're still a great First Officer! You can't just resign from Starfleet!"

"My efficiency rating has dropped by ten percent, Captain. Therefore, to call me a '_great' _First Officer is an embellishment, as there is obviously much room for improvement. Someone else will do a better job in that position other than myself."

"Dammit, Spock! What is bringing this on? Why do you want to leave?"

_Because I am constantly haunted by what I have done. My head constantly aches, I am constantly tired. I am…emotionally compromised. I am lost. Everything hurts. _

"I believe I have already stated my reasoning's, Captain. Serving in Starfleet is no longer an attractive endeavor for me when my time could be spent more productively elsewhere. Therefore, if you would kindly sign off on the…"

"Elsewhere!? You belong here! What—a 10% drop in efficiency? Big fucking deal, Spock! Jesus, most of my officers see a twenty to thirty percent drop every now and then! Shit happens! You can't be fucking perfect all of the time! You just came back on duty for crying out loud!" Jim interrupted him in anger before sighing and running a hand through his hair. "Is this…" he started again, albeit in a much softer voice. "Is this because I don't talk to you anymore? Because, if that's the reason, Spock, that was your goddamned decision, not mine. I tried to talk to you. God did I fucking try, and _you're_ the one that decided we shouldn't be friends," he spat through gritted teeth, his anger becoming the strongest emotion in the room.

Spock had not anticipated this kind of reaction. He had assumed the Captain would be relieved to see him go, he had assumed this conversation would have already ended thirty-three seconds ago.

"I will not repeat words I have previously stated for your benefit. It is illogical as you have already heard them, and are quite capable of processing them at an intelligent level. Please sign my resignation, _Captain," _Spock stated flatly, and eyed the PADD on the desk.

"Dammit! Quit talking to me like a fucking computer! This is a big deal!"

_When I make you moan and plead, Vulcan, do it like you enjoy it, not like a computer being given a command. _Spock did not even flinch as the grotesque memory assaulted him. He had grown so used to reliving those encounters over and over again, day after day; therefore, he seemed to be growing accustomed to them.

Jim glared intensely at him, his eyes narrowing with anger. He picked up the PADD, activated it, and signed it in an exaggerated motion before stowing it away with the other PADD's. "I don't even know why I bothered. You want to leave? Fine, I won't stop you…and do you know why?"

Spock didn't bother responding as he had already turned around and headed back toward the door to make his exit. He couldn't look at Jim anymore, it was too much, and too painful.

"Because I don't _care_ enough about you anymore to stop you…"

Spock's steps faltered, and his back stiffened. It felt like ice had been thrown on him. Any why? Had he not already reconciled himself with the fact that Jim would no longer care about him? Why did that one statement serve to make him feel like he had just been burned? Why did he feel…so devastated and alone? Why did he feel like he had felt right after S'teth had first taken him back in that room so many weeks ago?

Spock did not turn around. He couldn't. Instead, he settled for, "I will be leaving when we make our rendezvous with the _USS Reliant_ at Starbase 16 within the hour. I apologize for inconveniencing you with the loss of your First Officer, and as there will be no logical reason for us to speak again, live long and prosper, Captain Kirk."

He could feel Jim's eyes staring after him as he exited into the hallway and back to his quarters to pack. He had timed his resignation perfectly. He would no longer be a burden to Jim, who obviously did not care about him anyway, and he would no longer pose a risk to the ship. They would be free of him, and he knew that at least by doing this, he was doing a good and beneficial thing by them.

He had no idea what he would do outside of Starfleet, but he would decide that at a later date. At that moment, all he wanted to do was get off the ship that had become his own personal hell. That had served as a constant reminder of the life he would never have. Of the friend he would likely never see again.

**AN: Okay, for those that skipped past the non-con, it's basically a nightmare of a memory where Spock was asked/forced to do something he didn't want to do. And, the name of this chapter comes from the Korn song, "Alone, I break" which is perfect for Spock's feelings by the end of this. I bet Arc 2 is starting to come into focus for some of you, judging what Spock ended up doing at the end of this. I could have drew this chapter out in terms of detail, but I really wanted to get to Arc 2. **

**Now, I had someone tell me that my Spock in this is too out of character, and so is my Jim for that matter. I wanted to address it in case any of you feel this way as well, and just don't want to ask me. I realize that Spock is acting very emotionally, but given what he's just gone through, I don't see this behavior as OOC for him. Spock has been brutally raped, and not just in a sexual way. His mind was also raped, and his shields effectively wiped out by S'teth. Sarek told Spock that Vulcans feel much more deeply than humans, and with Spock's shields basically non-existent…he is feeling all of these emotions and is unable to process them because he has never been taught how to deal with them. He has just been taught not to let them show; to always keep them controlled.**

**What you are reading is Spock feeling the aftermath of his trauma, and given his basic innocence regarding these things, this type of violence, I really can't imagine Spock acting in another way, especially since he has no vulcan shields in place to help him. I don't think he's too emotional, and I do apologize to those that do find him to be OOC. Of course, given the content, I expect the character to change during the plot. Rape victims are not the same after being raped. There is hurt there, and blame, and guilt, and rage, and fear, and sadness, and if Vulcans experience their emotions much more passionately, why would Spock not feel all of these on a much larger scale? Now, this is not a knock on the person who told me this, for I want you to interpret the story as you read it, I just wanted to take the time to explain my reasonings for writing Spock like I am in this particular story, and perhaps shed some light on it. **

**Okay! I would love to hear your thoughts! Thanks for reading! XD **


	11. About Today

**A.N Hey everyone! It's Sunday again, and here is the beginning of Arc 2! Really, this could have been pushed in with Arc 1, but I really just wanted to get Arc 2 started. This chapter will be Jim and Bones' POV of basically the last chapter we had with Spock. Now, just so everyone is clear, before Spock resigned, he'd been back on the Enterprise for two weeks and four days. That was the ETA that Chekov gave Kirk for Starbase 16 that first day Spock came back from Altriri IV. I just thought I'd make sure everyone knew the times since I know how easy it is to lose track of it. However, if anyone does have questions about the timing, feel free to ask XD. **

**I want to thank Coccinelle for her advice as I bring this together, and I want to thank all the wonderful reviewers out there who make me feel on top of the world. You guys make me look forward to Sundays ;)**

**Now, I apologize in advance for any impulses to punch Jim you guys may get in the course of reading this chapter. Just keep in mind Jim's age, and his emotional compromise where Spock is concerned. I had someone complain about Jim's character in this, but I'm honestly just trying to be realistic here. It's painful, and frustrating I know, but that's also my intention in writing a story like this. **

** Arc 2**

**Chapter Eleven**

**About Today**

**The past week and half for Jim….**

As Kirk miserably shuffled off to breakfast the morning after his horrible run-in with Spock in the shared bathroom, he couldn't help but resent the fact that he probably wouldn't see the Vulcan again until his shift on the bridge started.

Given how awkward things had gotten last night, he should be relieved, but he just wasn't. As silent as their meals were, he couldn't help but feel a sense of _home_ sitting with Spock at the table. He couldn't explain it, he just felt comfortable, despite how awkward things had become. He felt like, as long as he was doing it, things might start to look up. After all, Kirk didn't _believe _in no-win scenarios, right?

Then that fucking replicator happened, and even though Kirk had supported the idea, he still didn't have to like-like it, and it was for his own selfish reasons. If Spock was in there with his own replicator, he wouldn't be using the one in the mess hall, which meant that he wouldn't be sitting with him.

_Goddamnit, Bones. _Kirk thought in dismay as he walked into the mess hall bright and early, and immediately felt like an asshole. Bones was only trying to help Spock, and honestly, he was doing a much better job at it than Kirk was. So what if he couldn't sit with Spock? It wasn't like they talked anyway, and at least Spock could eat his fucking food in peace without having to endure the endless amount of staring and gossiping. Kirk hadn't actually _heard_ the gossip firsthand, but he wasn't stupid. He knew it was going on.

No, he should be relieved that Spock had gotten his own replicator if only to avoid that kind of drama that Spock hadn't had to endure since his professor days; per Uhura. Kirk had never taken one of Spock's classes, but he'd heard horror stories about them. Apparently the pass percentage of his students left something to be desired. Plus, Kirk _had_ been the one that had gotten upset when Bones had told him that he hadn't used that option yet with Spock. It _had _been him that had demanded it. It didn't make sense to also be upset because the option finally got used, did it?

That's what Kirk told himself as he replicated himself a lousy breakfast, and sat down at the table where Sulu and Chekov were already busily eating along with Ensign Froman and Lt. Chapin who were also regulars on the bridge. Kirk nodded to them and wished them a good morning. Though from his tone of voice, it probably didn't sound like he wished any good wishes on anyone.

"Morning, Captain," they all answered in unison and returned to their prior conversations.

A good five minutes went by in stiff silence before the captain errantly started wondering where Uhura was this morning. He didn't have to worry long though, because the Communications Officer herself shuffled in across from him with a breakfast that barely constituted as such. She looked irritated and tired.

Well, join the club because so was he.

"Good morning, Captain," she said in monotone before adding with a frown, "you're not sitting with Spock, today?" The way she asked it was slightly accusing, and Kirk honestly didn't know who the tone was directed at; him or Spock.

"Actually—," Kirk had just started to respond when his eyes just so happened to glance up to the entrance of the mess hall where the Vulcan himself was standing and looking thoroughly out of place.

His words died in his throat, and continued to die as the Vulcan spared him a glance that said absolute shit about how he was feeling, and proceeded up to the replicator to, Kirk assumed, get his breakfast. Fortunately, the captain had been able to wipe the stupid shocked look of his face before Spock broke eye-contact.

However, he was still reeling with shock.

Spock was in the mess hall eating.

His breakfast. In the mess hall.

At first Kirk was beyond confused and his face probably showed it, since all of the officers including Uhura trailed his gaze and watched Spock's back right along with him as the Vulcan walked toward the replicators, his stoic gaze dead set ahead of him. There was one question on Kirk's mind at that moment; why the hell was Spock in here when he had a replicator in his cabin?

_Unless…_

Kirk couldn't help how his heart leapt at the prospect that Spock had come to the mess hall in order to eat with him; in order to keep his end of the deal. Or maybe…just because he wanted to. He couldn't help the smile that crept across his face just thinking about it, which made everyone at the table glance at each other uneasily. They hadn't seen him smile since Spock had gotten back on board.

"So…are you going to sit with Spock, Captain? Or did…" Uhura started in bemusement.

"I didn't know he would be here this morning. Something about preparing for his shift today on the bridge," Kirk answered in a half lie; for he _hadn't _known that Spock was going to be here this morning, but the Vulcan's bridge shift had nothing to do with it.

Simultaneously all eyebrows at the table went up in obvious surprise. "The Commander's coming back on duty today?" Sulu asked through a mouthful of pancakes, voicing what everyone else wanted to ask.

_Jeeze, did no one read the damn rosters?_

Kirk tore his eyes away from Spock, who was now sitting down at the lonely table, and directed them at Sulu. "Yeah. Bones put him back on duty last night. Thinks it'll be good for him to…you know…focus back on work," he explained in a distracted voice as he put his eyes back on the Vulcan in question. It took him a second to come to a decision. "Hey guys, I'll catch you all on the bridge," Kirk added hastily, gathered what was left of his food, and headed toward Spock; his heart beating frantically the entire way.

_Spock turned down the replicator, _he thought in a sappy voice that made him feel like an excited schoolgirl. _He turned down the replicator so he could eat in here with me. _God, there was the sappy voice again.

And just like that sappy inner voice, Kirk couldn't stop himself from smiling stupidly as he sat down across from Spock, feeling overly hopeful and excited. Maybe today was going to be different. Maybe today Spock would start going back to normal since he was back on the bridge and doing what he loved to do. Maybe Bones had been right in the sense that putting him back on duty could get him back into the swing of how things used to be.

"I'm surprised you're here this morning," he said as casually as he could, thanking every god throughout history that his inner foolish voice didn't manifest into his spoken words.

"I do not see a logical reason for such surprise, Captain. I have been here every morning for the past four days. This will be the fifth," Spock answered in that icy voice that Kirk had come to dread, and for the first time since Spock had walked into the mess hall, he felt a twinge of apprehension. Perhaps he had assumed too much too soon.

"Well…I just thought you maybe came here because of…" Kirk let his voice trail off. He wasn't quite sure how to say, _'I thought you came here because I was here,' _without sounding desperate and whiny. Both things that Vulcans looked down upon.

"You thought I had taken Dr. McCoy's offer to approve me for the use of a personal replicator in my quarters?" Spock suggested stoically as he separated the food on his tray. Before Kirk had used to love the way Spock would separate his food. It was always done in an almost logical way, and he loved it so much because he'd never seen someone separate their food so efficiently or pristinely. It was one of the many things about the Vulcan that Kirk had come to cherish.

Now though, those little things he used to cherish just didn't seem to hold the same meaning; not with this giant wedge between them.

Kirk wondered how much he should admit in response to Spock's assumption while he fought to swallow the lump in his throat. "Well, yeah. I mean, I figured you would be all for that, Spock. Privacy and all. I know you don't like being in the mess hall and so does Bones, apparently," he said with embarrassment, for he wasn't sure how much he was exactly supposed to know about Spock's replicator situation, given medical confidentiality.

On that thought, Kirk's food suddenly got a lot more interesting.

"I am relieved that you and the doctor feel so inclined as to discuss my personal affairs in your free time, Captain." Kirk couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine at Spock's icy tone; a tone that reminded him so much of the way Spock used to speak to him before the _Narada _incident.

"I will enlighten you as I did Dr. McCoy. I do not require a personal replicator. I am perfectly capable of eating my meals in the mess hall. Just because I have chosen to do so in solitude now as opposed to in a group has no bearing on my mental state. I have already explained the logic behind such a decision, and find it tedious to have to continue repeating myself to various officers on this ship because of their incompetency."

_Ouch, _Kirk thought dejectedly as his heart sank further and further with every cold and calculated word.

"Now, if it does not inconvenience you," Spock continued, completely oblivious to the blizzard brewing inside of Kirk. "I would request that we finish our meal in silence. I wish to arrive at my station early, and the time wasted on conversing with you when it serves no logical purpose is detrimental to that goal," Spock finished crisply and glanced sharply down at his meal.

Kirk was grateful for that, because it meant he didn't have to witness the soul-crushed expression that had taken over his face.

_No logical purpose. _That's what Spock had said. Speaking to Kirk served no logical fucking purpose. Speaking to Kirk was a waste of time. And damn if that wasn't hard and painful to hear, and now he just felt like an idiot.

He should have known. He should have _fucking _known that Spock hadn't come to the mess hall just to eat with him. He had been so fucking stupid in thinking any differently. To think that he had actually come over to this table thinking things were finally going to start looking up. At that moment, Kirk felt like the biggest idiot in the world, and the blush on his face probably only confirmed that feeling.

But there was also another feeling beginning to take root in his chest, a feeling that had not been there since he threw his chessboard in Spock's face and told him to throw the fucking thing away. Kirk felt hopelessness; hopelessness and fatigue at the prospect of continuing this charade of trying to be friends with his First Officer when they most obviously were not and probably never were going to be.

He had gone into this thinking that one way or another he would get through to Spock. One way or another he would get the Vulcan to crack, but how much more of this could he take? How much more of himself could he offer here, only to be rejected every single fucking time?

"Fine, Commander," Kirk bit out coldly, relieved that at least his verbal ability had not left him in the wake of what he'd just heard. He kind of wanted to say more; to shout, really. But to say anything else really just made him want to scream. Instead, they ate their meals in silence, but for some reason, this silence was far different than the ones that had come before it. This silence seemed to bring a hint of forbearance with it, and Kirk had no idea how to explain why that was. He only knew that it scared the shit out of him. He didn't want to give up, but obviously, there was part of him, a small part, that did.

((oOo))

After the most awkward breakfast Kirk had ever had in his life aboard the Enterprise, he despondently made his way to the bridge. The entire way he was careful to avoid eye-contact for fear that someone would see the hurt in his eyes, but in the turbo-lift that very thing came to pass.

"Are you okay, Captain?" Lt. Chapin asked him from two feet away, her brown eyes observing him worriedly.

Kirk, who had been glancing at his feet in a sort of daze, picked his head up to face her. "What? Oh, I'm fine Lieutenant. Thank you," he answered hastily and cursed himself for being able to be read so easily. This morning he had been excited and hopeful when Spock had come into the mess hall. Now however he was silently cursing the Vulcan for having the power to make him feel this way.

She was about to say something else, but fortunately the turbo-lift opened and it took him all of four seconds to get out and to his chair. He spared a glance at the science station and wasn't surprised to see Spock there, his fingers ghosting across the controls. Before, the sight of Spock at the science station was comforting and made him feel confident.

Now though, it made him nervous and hesitant. He had _no_ idea how today was going to go and if his _gut feelings_ were half as good as he claimed they were…his expectations weren't very high. Judging by the look on Uhura's face as she shamelessly peered over at Spock; her expectations weren't very high either. She looked just as nervous as he was.

"Status report, Mr. Chekov?" Kirk asked in a deflated tone while he dragged his eyes off of Spock's back and toward the expansive view of space; his body settling down into his chair.

"All readingz are normal, Keptin." The response was tense, and again, Kirk cursed himself and Spock. If he weren't having this—this _whatever_ the hell it was with the Vulcan, the crew wouldn't be walking on eggshells around them both.

"Thanks, Mr. Chekov. Mr. Sulu? Let's go ahead and put her warp five. No reason to keep tip toeing around this part of space," Kirk answered in as playful a tone as he could muster, which sounded pretty embarrassing. But it was worth the attempt. He really wanted the bridge crew to think everything was normal. He _needed_ them to think that because when the next reports came through on crew efficiency and morale; and the numbers were low enough, someone in Command would take notice. Given how much Marcus seemed to hate Kirk with a burning passion, having Command on his ass was the _last _thing the captain wanted to deal with. Didn't Spock understand that? Didn't he care what Marcus thought of Kirk?

A part of him said that yes, the Vulcan _did_ care. But as seemed to be the case lately, there was also a part of him that didn't believe that. Hell, maybe even the Vulcan agreed with Marcus' views on Kirk's ability as a captain.

"Aye, Captain. Puttin' her at warp five."

For the first couple of hours, everything went like normal on the bridge. Or, as normal as things could feel given Spock's return.

Worried that he would turn around and find the Vulcan looking at him, Kirk made it his personal mission to keep his eyes in the forward direction. Usually he might get up and walk around to get a look at everyone's stations in an effort to involve himself, but he just couldn't this time. On the occasion that Kirk just had to look behind him, he kept his eyes off of the science station. Usually, by now, he would have already asked Spock a litany of stupid science questions just to hear the Vulcan speak, but he hadn't this time. Instead, he directed that habit to asking other people questions. It wasn't like Spock would want to talk to him more than was necessary anyway.

However, the time eventually came when Kirk was obliged to ask for a status report or he'd be breaking regulation. Clearing his throat and keeping his eyes forward, Kirk opened his mouth. "Mr. Spock, report," he asked shortly and ignored the way Sulu and Chekov both glanced warily at him.

He had been expecting to hear that familiar, smooth cadence sound behind him, but nothing like that happened. Instead, Kirk was met with silence which was very, very unusual. Spock always answered him on the bridge. Always.

Not being able to resist turning around now, especially given how everyone had taken to shooting bemused glances in Spock's direction, Kirk took in the slightly hunched form of his First Officer who had paid no sign that he had heard his captain speak at all. From beside the Vulcan, Uhura was glancing at him worriedly.

"Mr. Spock," Kirk started warily. "Did you hear me?" he finished loudly because seeing the Vulcan ignore everyone in the room was unsettling. It wasn't like Spock to do that, especially on duty.

A second later found the Vulcan stiffening and straightening back up in his chair like he had just become aware of the room again. He stared straight ahead at his screen for a moment or two before turning back around to finally regard Kirk; his expression slightly off.

Kirk felt his hear beat quicken. Spock's expressions were rarely off.

"Spock," Kirk prompted again in response to the continued silence; his voice much more softer given such a vulnerable expression. Kirk's gut instinct told him something was wrong. That Spock wouldn't just ignore him like that on the bridge unless something was wrong, and this continued silence wasn't helping anything. It took all of the captain's willpower not to page Bones right that moment, and if the Vulcan hadn't answered him, he would have.

"I apologize, Captain. I must answer in the negative. Would you please rephrase your statement?" Spock finally asked in a quiet voice that Kirk had to struggle to hear. And he kind of wished he hadn't because why the fuck would Spock not have heard him? What was he so focused on that Kirk's entire question—which the entire bridge had heard—had gone unnoticed? Judging by the rapid turning of heads all across the room, his officers were thinking something similar and that wasn't good. It was one thing for him to be suspicious, but he couldn't have the bridge suspicious of Spock's ability to perform his duty. He didn't want people losing their confidence in Spock because it would just make everything worse, especially on the Vulcan himself.

Kirk cleared his throat audibly and answered, "I asked for a status report, Mr. Spock." He phrased it as quietly as possible, stupidly hoping that maybe people wouldn't hear him. Errantly he felt a surge of resentment mixed in with his worry for Spock putting him in this position. If the Vulcan would just fucking _talk_ to him…

"Of course, Captain," Spock answered and turned back around; his voice gratefully interrupting the disgusting turn his thoughts had taken. He shouldn't be blaming Spock. If there was anyone to blame, it was himself.

Everyone along with Kirk watched as Spock performed what he could only assume was a scan of the ship and its current functions, and then turned back around to face him, his expression as impassive as ever. The vulnerability from before, completely gone.

"All readings are normal, Captain," he stated with an even gaze.

That should be the end of it. Kirk should nod his thank you, and turn back around and go on with his business and discuss it later, but he couldn't stop staring at the Vulcan. He couldn't stop studying his face for any sign of that previous expression that had been so chilling to witness. Apparently, everyone else in the room had the same motivation in mind.

Upon the lingering stares, Spock stiffened in his chair and while no one else probably noticed, his cheeks took on a slightly greener tint, almost like he was blushing. "I apologize for not being more attentive. It is unacceptable," the Vulcan added quickly as if he just wanted people to stop staring at him.

Instantly Kirk felt like the biggest dick in the world. Just a day ago, he had been cursing the people on this ship for doing exactly what he was doing; staring and gawking like a fucking teenager. Thoroughly snapped out of his daze, Kirk blinked rapidly to quell his self disgust, and straightened up in his chair. "No need to apologize, Commander. I did ask pretty quietly. It's possible you didn't hear me," he answered in what he hoped would be a believable cover story to quell the confusion and worry being exhibited across his bridge.

Of course, he knew Vulcans had far superior hearing that humans, so it was completely ridiculous to assume that Spock hadn't heard him. But perhaps, unless you were Uhura, the rest of the room wasn't privy to that sort of information.

Instead of a verbal response, Spock simply nodded his head once, and turned back around to become completely engrossed in his readings, the rest of the bridge seemingly becoming non-existent again. Kirk just continued staring.

Whereas in the first couple of hours Kirk had done everything in his power _not_ to look at the Vulcan, the rest of the shift he couldn't keep his eyes off of him. Spock and _mistakes_ just didn't go together. At all. And at the end of the shift he was going to ask Spock in private if anything was wrong; if there was anything he needed to know about.

But he never got that chance because barely a minute after the shift ended, Spock tore ass to the turbolift and despite _seeing_ Kirk coming toward him _with every intention_ of getting in—just let the doors slide shut.

For a moment, Kirk just stared stupidly at the closed doors of the turbolift, wondering if he'd really just seen Spock do that. If he'd really just witnessed Spock shut him out like that, especially after that shit that had just happened a couple of hours ago. Surely Spock would know that Kirk wanted to speak to him, to ask him what had happened on the bridge to make him completely space out like that.

He had to have known that Kirk would have questions, and he didn't care.

_Maybe he's not ready to be back on the bridge after all. In fact, maybe that's why he hauled ass, to avoid talking to you so that he could hide whatever problem he's hiding, _a voice inside Kirk suggested, but he instantly pushed that thought away. There was one thing Kirk was absolutely sure about, and that was that Spock would never compromise the bridge in such a way. If Spock did have some problem, despite their falling out, Kirk was one hundred percent sure that he would be the first one to declare himself unfit. A human might not do that…but a Vulcan would. Spock would.

Which left the reason for his hasty retreat pretty fucking clear; he didn't want to be around Kirk. He didn't want to be hounded and pestered by Kirk's presence. He'd been giving the captain signs all fucking week, hadn't he? The avoidance, the short and sometimes _rude_ conversation between them, hell if this wasn't a sign for Kirk to just shut his fucking mouth, then what was?

When the turbolift finally came back up, Kirk got inside a different man. It seemed like the feelings from that morning were manifesting again, and this time on a permanent scale. The _Bones_ in him told him just keep trying, to just keep attempting to get through that super Vulcan wall, and it pained him to know that before…it would have been the _Kirk_ in him that pushed him to hold his ground, not Bones.

It pained him that underneath it all, he was honestly just _scared_ to keep trying. Scared that every time he did, he would just be pushed back down like he didn't matter. Just like everyone else he'd cared about in his life had inevitably done (save Bones). And it wasn't just the fear of rejection that had him running for the hills. No, it wasn't that simple. It was also the fear of putting Spock in with all those people who had once been someone in Kirk's life; who had once been a pillar, but had crashed and burned somewhere along the way. Kirk was afraid that the Vulcan he'd managed to feel so much for would fade into the background with everyone else he had lost, and despite Spock's cold attitude toward him…Kirk never wanted that to happen. Perhaps it would be better to tell himself that he hadn't let it get that far. That instead of pushing and pushing for some kind of reaction, for some fucking sign that Spock cared; he should put an end to it before it could get that far.

Spock would be the one that _almost was_ instead of the one that _was, but just isn't anymore. _

((oOo))

For the first time since striking the deal with Spock about eating together, Kirk did not sit with him. And what was more? He found he didn't even want to. Just watching the Vulcan's back as Spock sat at that fucking table eating in solitude made him feel all sorts of emotions; the prominent one being anger. Because again, anger was better to feel as opposed to hurt.

Everyone else at the table must have sensed his emotional disquiet, because they carefully avoided speaking with him, which was all well and good for Kirk. He didn't want to talk anyway.

After lunch, Kirk found that he had the rest of the day to kill since he hadn't been scheduled for anymore shifts on the bridge. Normally, he liked days like this because it gave him a chance to catch up on other things like reports or random inspections into the varying departments on the ship; but today just wasn't a day to have a lot of free time. Free time meant more time with thoughts, and his thoughts these days weren't a bouquet of flowers.

Before, bearing he had nothing important to do, he would go and annoy Bones in sickbay, or seek out Spock and annoy him. At the moment, though, Bones just reminded him of Spock, which made him the last person—besides the Vulcan himself—Kirk wanted to be around. On any other day the captain would be amused at tying the doctor and the Vulcan together in such a way, because he could only imagine what Bones would say if Kirk told him that he reminded him of Spock. He'd likely fake a heart attack. But today it just wasn't amusing. In fact, amusement seemed like some foreign emotion that he hadn't had the pleasure of feeling in a long time.

Feeling that he should probably look like the captain he was trying desperately to be, Kirk decided to pay Scotty a visit in Engineering. That particular department was due for an inspection anyway, and it would look good to the crew if their Captain was playing an active role in overseeing all of the departments.

Of course, the Science Department was also due for an inspection. But again, Kirk ran the risk of seeing Spock there and after this morning he just wanted to put the Vulcan far from his mind and deal with it when he was less emotional. Plus, Spock _was_ the Chief Science Officer after all, so it would be weird for him not to be down in the lab, and if Kirk showed up under the premise of performing a Captain's Inspection, the Vulcan would probably become annoyed, and assume that he'd really come just to check up on him given it was his first day back.

Kirk had every right to do that, especially after what had happened on the bridge, but he just felt weird about doing it. At the end of the day, this was Spock he was talking about, not an incompetent ensign, and he knew the Vulcan wouldn't appreciate being _checked _up on.

_You shouldn't care about what he appreciates, Jim. You're the fucking Captain. If you had any balls, you'd march right the hell down to the Science Department and tell him what's up,_ he told himself, but despite his angry musings…he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

So he didn't.

After the inspection in the Engineering Department, which had made Scotty's day and launched the Scotsmen off on enough demonstrations to take up an entire week if he had wanted them to, Kirk made his way to the gym to get in a quick workout before dinner. Fortunately, it hadn't been crowded, and Kirk had gotten in a solitary round with a punching bag that left him feeling slightly better, even if his hands were slightly bruised afterward.

When dinner time came around, that slightly positive feeling disappeared when he caught sight of the Vulcan. Just as he had done at lunch, Kirk refused to sit with Spock. He was determined, by now, to let the Vulcan make the first move in repairing what he thought was a relationship.

By this time, the other people at his table had started to take notice that he was obviously avoiding Spock again since he wasn't sitting at the other table. Uhura, _no surprise there, _was the first person to comment on it. "Why aren't you sitting with Spock, Captain?" she asked casually, but he could hear the real curiosity there, and maybe even a hint of wariness.

Kirk didn't even spare her a glance because if he did, she would surely see his annoyance. Not that his next words wouldn't do that job anyway.

"Is there a reason I'm supposed to be sitting with him, Lieutenant? Is there some unspoken rule in the Captain handbook that says that the Captain has to eat with the First Officer? Should I just send out a mass status message over the intercom every time the Commander and I interact? Would that satisfy you?" he bit out in a much louder voice than he had intended, effectively making the entire table go silent at his outburst. Even the tables immediately next to them turned and regarded Kirk warily.

He had expected Uhura to lash out at him, and honestly, he kind've deserved it and even wished that she would. At least that would be _someone_ showing some fraction of emotion toward him. Surprisingly though, she didn't. Instead she flared her nostrils a bit, took a deep breath, and then set him with a sympathetic look. For a moment, it was as if she knew just how hard it had been for him over this past week. That look soon passed though, and Kirk watched as the Communications Officer gathered the tray of food she hadn't even touched, and prepared to leave.

"You're not the only one that Spock is avoiding, Captain. You're not the only one affected by all this," she spoke quietly so that only he could hear her. She then spared the rest of the table a brief look and left the mess hall after depositing her tray in the waste area.

Kirk resisted the urge to go after her and apologize. She hadn't deserved that outburst. Hell she had once been _dating _the Vulcan. He could only imagine how she must be feeling given Spock's new attitude. How it must be affecting her. And like a selfish ass, he'd forgotten all about it, just like he'd forgotten about Bones' own feelings on the matter.

That was the bad thing about pain. When you experienced it, it was hard to be aware of the other pain around you. It was hard to keep reminding yourself that even though you thought the world was ending, it might very well be ending for another as well. He wondered if Spock could empathize with such a concept; if the Vulcan was aware of the pain his demeanor was causing everyone, or if perhaps the Vulcan was feeling his own version of pain.

Kirk shuddered at that possibility, and what could possibly make a Vulcan feel such pain so as to alienate everyone around him. Even the death of his entire planet and mother hadn't produced such an effect, which only further supported his ever growing assumption that Spock just realized how illogical everyone was, and how illogical it was for him to keep on _humoring_ the lot of them.

Appetite now non-existent, it wasn't long before Kirk was leaving the mess hall right behind his Communications Officer and heading back to his cabin. Unfortunately, Bones just happened to be passing by on his way through the halls, and Kirk had to wonder if the doctor hadn't just requested his location from a computer terminal and decided to time it so perfectly that he would run into Kirk in the hallway. He could pull it up later of course, and determine how many times his location had been requested, and by who, but he found he'd rather not know.

"Missed you in sickbay today," Bones commented suspiciously as he fell into step beside Kirk, who noted that he'd originally been going in the other direction.

"Yeah, well, usually the Captain's job takes place on the bridge. Sorry you missed that little tid bit back at the Academy, Bones," Kirk said dismissively, his eyes staring straight ahead. All he wanted to do was get back to his fucking cabin.

"Don't be a smart ass, Jim. I saw the roster. I _know_ you had two free shifts today, and usually when that happens you find your way into my domain one way or the other," Bones pointed out darkly as they both arrived in front of Kirk's door.

"Again, usually the Captain's job requires him to actually do shit _off_ the bridge too, Bones. I had some inspections to do today…" he voiced tiredly as the red door slid open, permitting him blessed entrance.

Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, Bones came shuffling in behind him. "You did _one_ inspection, Jim. In Engineering. I hope you're not avoiding me."

Kirk's eyes squinted in annoyance as he tore his golden shirt off and thrust it to the floor leaving him in just his black undershirt. "Are you checking up on me?" he asked in a high pitched, irritated voice.

Bones gave him a deadpanned look. "It's my job to check up on you, Jim. You'd be dead by now if I didn't. Now, usually, it would be a good thing to not have you flirting with my nurses in sickbay so they can actually, you know, do their jobs, but I wanted to ask how Spock's first day back went. Anything I should be concerned about?"

Kirk waved his hand arrogantly in the direction of Spock's cabin. "He's right in there I'm sure. Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Bones scowled and stepped closer to him. "Because I'm asking you, dammit! Now quit acting like a child, and answer my goddamned question!" the man yelled.

Kirk took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, wondering if he should tell Bones about Spock spacing out on the bridge. "He was fine, Bones. As logical and anti-social as ever. There. Are you satisfied?" he settled on, and felt sort of guilty. He really should tell Bones about what happened, but there was just a part of him that wanted to give Spock the benefit of the doubt and blame it on the lingering fatigue from his stay on Altriri IV.

"What about in the mess hall? You know, he turned me down on the replicator idea," Bones informed him in a sheepish voice, which was a stark contrast to the yell he'd just exhibited.

Kirk glared at him as he sat on the bed and fumbled with his boots. His feet hurt like a bitch. "I think I caught onto that when he came into the mess hall for all three meals today, but thanks for _clarifying_ it anyway," the captain spat, and threw one of his boots across the room on the word 'clarifying' where it hit the wall with a thud.

Bones eyed fallen boot distastefully. "Okay, Jim. I don't know what your problem is—,"

Kirk laughed hollowly, cutting the doctor off. "My problem? Seriously, Bones? Have you been on the same fucking ship that I've been on this past week? There are a shit load of problems, and all of them start with the letter fucking 'S'," he hissed, the laugh dying instantly.

A grim look of understanding came over Bones' expression. "So, today didn't go well then…"

Kirk sighed heavily and put his head in his hands. Today had gone so far from _well._

A second later, a weight settled in beside Kirk on the bed and with it, a hand on his back. "Want to talk about it?" Bones' voice sounded softly.

"There's really nothing to talk about. Today wasn't different than any other day on this ship since Spock came back. It's me that's different, Bones," and here, Kirk finally looked up at his friend desperately.

Bones remained silent, willing him to continue with his stare.

"I'm right fucking here, and he knows that, but I might as well be completely off of this ship. I've tried being patient. I've tried waiting for him to open up, to talk to me, and it just doesn't work. Him and me? We just don't work, and I think now I'm starting to realize that." Kirk looked away, his hands shaking as he did so. He sounded like a whiny fucking child, be he just couldn't help himself.

For a moment, Bones didn't say anything and Kirk wondered if he even would. He did eventually though. "I know patience isn't your strong suit, Jim. But…I'm _asking_ you to just wait a little longer."

Kirk inhaled and shot up off the bed. "Yeah, you keep asking me to do that and it's not doing anything, Bones. In fact, it's making it worse! It's driving him even further away!"

Bones followed suit and also shot up off the bed. "And you think ignoring him completely won't make it worse either?"

"Well, if that's what he wants!"

"And do you really think that's what he wants!?" Bones shouted, his voice drowning out Kirk's.

A few moments passed by as Kirk mulled over the words in his mind. "Maybe…yeah. Maybe that is what he wants, Bones," he finally sounded, his voice meek and pathetic as the ramifications of that statement hit home.

"I've called you a lot of things, but I've never believed you to be stupid, Jim," Bones stated gently but sternly.

"Me either, Bones," Kirk muttered dejectedly.

Bones gave him a long and pitying look before he shook his head and headed toward the door. "Just let me know if there's anything I need to be concerned about. You don't have to hold his hand, Jim. But you can at least do your fucking job as the Captain, and take time out of your _oh woe is me_ schedule to observe your First Officer and make sure he's functioning like he should. You don't have to be his friend to do that, do you?" Bones spat before dramatically exiting the room, leaving Kirk with nothing but the sounds of the ship to keep him company.

Not wanting to waste time with a shower, Kirk just crawled into his bed and ordered the lights out. It was extremely too early to go to bed, but staying up just seemed way more trouble than it was worth. And perhaps once he'd gotten some sleep, he'd see things more clearly, and less emotionally, in the morning.

((oOo))

Despite going to sleep with optimism, the following morning hadn't been any better, and honestly, neither had the next few days.

Now, not only was Spock avoiding him (well, really Kirk was doing most of the avoiding), but so was Bones, it seemed. Ever since their argument in his cabin, the doctor had gone out of his way to not be around Kirk. He had felt this most noticeably when Bones had ventured into the mess hall one day at lunch, glared at the fact that Kirk had not been sitting with Spock, and then had gone and sat with the Vulcan in his stead.

While Kirk had been sort of hurt by the fact that Bones hadn't sat with him, he couldn't help but feel sort of relieved that at least someone was sitting with Spock. At least with Bones sitting with him, Spock would have to eat everything on his tray.

At least with Bones sitting with him, he would not have to be alone.

But Kirk had quickly dispelled that thought the moment it had entered his head. Spock had asked to eat alone, had preferred it, and had gone out of his way to make that abundantly clear. Kirk should not feel bad about it, but he hadn't been able to stop it.

The bridge hadn't fared much better either in Kirk's opinion. Sure, Spock hadn't had any more _spacing out_ moments, but there had still been something off about him during his shifts. Something Kirk just hadn't been able to put his finger on it. Again he had laboriously wondered if he should bring his concerns to Bones, but just like before, the captain had pushed that impulse away. Spock hadn't actually done anything to garner a medical opinion, and Kirk couldn't call the fucking doctor every time Spock looked at something wrong.

Then the day had come when Spock had been twenty minutes late to his post. And in that twenty minutes, Kirk had gone from concerned, to out and out worried. Spock had never been late to his post. Ever. And he hadn't been the only one to notice that the punctual Vulcan wasn't being so punctual. The entire bridge crew had been whispering that entire twenty minutes about just where their First Officer might have been.

"Captain, perhaps you should just locate him on the computer terminal," Uhura had suggested discreetly from her standing position beside him, worry in her eyes.

Kirk had been trying to avoid that. He hadn't wanted to embarrass his frie…his First Officer by having to locate him like some rebellious and stupid ensign, but it had seemed like he was going to have to do it anyway.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Your suggestion has been noted," he had answered her coolly. She had evened her eyes at him before turning back around and heading back over to her station. Kirk had just been about to speak into his small terminal on his chair when the Vulcan in question had walked in, a slight flush of green painting his cheeks. Then he had caught Kirk's eyes, which had been the first time since he'd watched the Vulcan let the door close on him in the turbolift.

"I apologize for my tardiness, Captain. There are various ongoing projects taking place in the Science Department, and I confess I had not realized the time," Spock had spoken softly, and stood there as if waiting for something.

_Probably a reprimand,_ Kirk had thought to himself, because being twenty minutes late certainly constituted such a thing. "It's fine, Commander. Nothing interesting happened. You can report to your post," Kirk had told him, and turned back in his chair before the Vulcan could garner a response. He had been unable to look at that face anymore. That face that betrayed no emotion.

Kirk knew that twenty minutes late constituted a reprimand twice over, but he just hadn't had the heart to do it. He just hadn't been able to voice the words. And he hadn't been able to do it the second time Spock was late either. When had he become such a shitty captain?

It had been during that shift, the one where Spock had been late a second time, that Kirk had decided that maybe he should suck it up and go to Bones, if only to tell him about Spock's tardiness. It wouldn't have been much to worry about in a human, but in a Vulcan? Well, there could be an entirely different meaning there where Spock was concerned, And Kirk had made up his mind mid-shift that as soon as he went off duty, he would go to Bones and let him know.

Then, barely an hour later, the Enterprise had almost gotten caught in the middle of one of the most massive ion storms Kirk had seen in a while; a storm big enough to have done some serious damage to his ship, and all of the people on it. If it hadn't been for Spock, they would have traveled right into it, too.

Spock had caught the storm on his scanners before that had been able to happen. Spock had saved the ship. And because of that, Kirk had decided that maybe Bones didn't need to know about his tardiness. Maybe Kirk had just been overreacting. Hell, maybe Spock really _had_ gotten caught up in the science lab given how much work there probably was down there after a month of missing their Chief Science Officer. After all, this _had been_ Spock's first week back. Everyone just needed a little time to settle back in, didn't they? Everyone needed a little time to get back into the swing of things.

Spock had just saved the Enterprise from a potentially fatal disaster, meaning he obviously could do his job. If Kirk had gone to Bones, Bones would have questioned the Vulcan; put him under further scrutiny, and caused him even more stress.

If such a thing as _stress_ even existed in Vulcans.

But if it did, Kirk hadn't wanted to be the one responsible for causing it unless it was absolutely necessary. He'd done enough damage.

((oOo))

The end of the week found Kirk in the Communications Department doing one of his inspections when a vibration shifted throughout the shift, and seconds later, the red warning lights came on, and the klaxons sounded.

Instantly shifting into captain mode, Kirk ran up to the nearest panel and hastened his fingers across it. "Kirk to Bridge, what's going on up there?" he barked into the panel while everyone else in the room stared anxiously at him.

"Captain, there's been an explosion in Lab 4, and I'm reading a bulkhead breach, sir," Uhura's voice sounded worriedly over the feed, which made him wonder just who the hell was manning the chair because that's who should have answered him. "Sulu's given me the conn. He's on his way down there," Uhura paused, answering his internal question, but the pause was hesitant, as if she had more to say, which made Kirk's insides go cold.

"Kirk…Spock's down there," she finally said, a tremble in her voice. But that was all Kirk needed to hear to thoroughly jumpstart his heart. Wherever that fucking vibration had come from, Spock had been in the same room with it, and given that it was enough to rock the ship…he could be dead. Exploded into nothing.

_Fuck! _

"Uhura, page Dr. McCoy. He's probably already on it, but I want you to get a full med team down to Lab 4. I also need you to get Scotty there immediately to contain that breach. I'm on my way there now. Kirk out." Kirk broke the connection, pushed passed the officers standing around, waiting for the news, and hauled ass out of the Communication's Department and toward Lab 4 where he prayed to anyone that would listen that Spock was okay. That he was alive. He had never hoped this intensely for something in his entire life.

_Please let him be okay_, Kirk thought desperately to himself as he ran through the corridors like a mad man, pushing past people unfortunate enough to be in his way. He could tell he was getting closer judging by the smoky fumes and smell of something burning becoming stronger and stronger. All he could imagine was that Spock's body had become a part of that burning smell, and it made him want to scream.

Finally though, he had arrived to Lab 4.

Like he'd already predicted, Bones was already there with a med team, and from the quick scan that Kirk had done once he'd walked in, no one had been terribly hurt. No one was laid out on a stretcher gasping for air or bleeding out. No one had been burnt to a crisp. Everyone looked fine, and those that had been injured weren't in danger of dying from the looks of it.

After assessing that, he unintentionally found the area that had exploded, and was also relieved to see that the breach had been sealed. Judging by the fact that the engineering team had just entered in behind him, the science officers had managed to contain the breach themselves.

But despite all of these positive things, Kirk had still not seen Spock yet, and when he finally caught sight of him, standing with a sort of dazed look on his face back by one of the destroyed computer terminals, his heart swelled in his chest.

For a moment, Kirk couldn't breathe. All he could was stand there and stare at the Vulcan he'd been so afraid had died in the explosion. Spock was alive and unharmed. He hadn't been burnt to a crisp or sucked out into space. He was alive and breathing. How would he have handled it if Spock had di…

Instantly Kirk stopped his train of thought and icy dread crawled up his spine, replacing the relief he'd just been feeling. And soon, he even started to feel ashamed.

Spock wasn't the only one who could have lost their life down in Lab 4 today. Everyone else in this room could have been wiped from existence when the explosion happened, and yet…the only one Kirk had cared to think about was the Vulcan now being accosted by one of the nurses; checking him for injuries.

Kirk's mind started to reel with the knowledge that the only one he could see in the span of the few minutes it had taken him to get down there, had been Spock.

No one else had mattered except for Spock. And just what the fuck was he supposed to think about that? What did that mean? He was the Captain for fuck's sake! His crew should have been the foremost thing in his mind during his marathon through the corridors, not just the First Officer.

Except he had been. Spock had been the only one there, and why?

Of course, now that Kirk had finally just asked himself the question directly, it all started to dawn on him. Spock had been the only one on his mind because he was the most important person in the world to him, and it was then, back when Uhura first pointed out where the Vulcan was and he thought he'd lost Spock that he realized why his emotions were all screwed up around him.

Kirk loved him, and just considering the notion that Spock would no longer go on breathing had been enough to put it into perspective, and glaringly so.

Finally, every fucking confusing feeling he'd felt toward Spock made sense. His frustration? His anger? His sadness? His want to just have the Vulcan near him and understand him? His want to understand Spock in return? His desperateness for those things to happen? How he felt when the Vulcan was gone for a month? Or the way his heart lit up when he thought that maybe…just maybe he and Spock had hit a breakthrough in their relationship? It was all because somehow and somewhere along the way, Kirk had done the one thing he'd told himself he would never do, and that was fall in love.

In the face of such a horrifying revelation, Kirk could not bring himself to walk over to the Vulcan, who thankfully still had not noticed him. Spock seemed to be lost in his own world, which might have worried Kirk had he not been so lost in his own in an attempt to process what he had just learned about himself.

It wasn't even the fact that Spock was a guy, which should be cause for worry because until now Kirk hadn't even considered that he might be gay. No, that wasn't what was making him start to tremble. While yes, that was a surprise, it wasn't what was causing him to lose his shit at the moment.

Kirk was horrified, and sad, and angry all at the same time because despite doing his best to keep himself from getting hurt; from getting too wrapped up in other people, let alone his Vulcan First Officer, he'd managed to do it anyway. He'd managed to fall in love with the one being in the universe that couldn't possibly love him back; a Vulcan that couldn't even stand to be in the same _room_ with him. The universe had fucked him over in a lot of different ways, but this? This was a whole new level of fucked up. This was just cruel. It was cruel that despite his effort to put distance between him and Spock to keep such a thing from happening, it happened anyway.

Despite the thunderstorm of emotion Kirk inwardly harbored, his outward appearance betrayed nothing. With the calm and efficiency of a Starfleet Admiral, Kirk made his way around the room to assess the damages, and talk with the science officers, and the engineers who had arrived on the scene (Scotty among them). He also found himself talking to Bones, who had assured him that aside from a meeting with the dermal regenerator, no one was going to suffer any long-term damages.

Spock was the last person he talked to, and he'd only saved him for last in an attempt to remain as collected and impassive as possible, which was harder than he'd imagined it would be, because how do you have a casual conversation with the person you just realized you were in love with? Especially when that person was a Vulcan? A Vulcan who wanted nothing to do with you?

"Commander, are you alright?" Kirk mustered the courage to ask, his voice sounding weird and detached to his ears.

Spock, who had obviously been dismissed by the nurse and was helping the engineers clear away some of the damaged portions of the bulkhead, paused and straightened up, his dirty hands smoothing out his uniform. The blue shirt was torn and slightly dirty, but Kirk couldn't find any evidence of an injury, and he hated how relieved that made him feel.

"I am adequate, Captain. The explosion did not injure me, and I apologize for what has occurred here," Spock answered him quietly and pursed his lips.

Kirk frowned and furrowed his brow. "Apologize? What for? From what your officers are saying, you were the first to act," Kirk found himself saying. He'd spoken to the science officers who had been witnesses to the explosion and they had all raved about Spock's quickness to contain the situation. Just because he had been overseeing it didn't make it his fault. Apparently, it had been a chance mistake; an error that no one could have predicted given the material they were working with, which was phaser power. Kirk hadn't really liked the idea of such experimentation, but then again, he wasn't the Admiral. Marcus was. So what he wanted really didn't matter.

Spock looked away to some imaginary place just over Kirk's shoulder, which made him frown even more. He hated it when Spock did that. "The explosion should not have happened, Captain," Spock added softly, that lost look returning to his eyes again.

"Spock, they're saying it was an unpredictable error; a chance mistake. You're not the one to blame…" Kirk started and took a step toward the Vulcan; an undeniable urge to quell whatever blame his First Officer was trying to place on himself. He'd done it on instinct because it's what he would've done before Spock had stayed on that planet. It's what his body and his mind pushed him to do.

Kirk flinched when Spock took a step backward, away from him, and in response the captain hardened his expression. He felt stupid again. Stupid for taking the step in the first place.

"If you will excuse me, Captain. My assistance is required here, and then I will need to file a report," Spock said, his eyes still avoiding Kirk as he did so.

"Of course, Commander. Don't let me keep you," Kirk responded in an almost hateful tone, and took an exaggerated step to the left, hating himself for his pettiness.

It was only after Spock had walked back over to the explosion site that he'd caught the eyes of Bones watching him from a few feet away; his head shaking and a look of disapproval on his face. For a moment, Kirk wondered how much he'd heard, and then realized he didn't care. Bones wasn't the one who'd just realized he was in love with a Vulcan that quite obviously did not love him back.

((oOo))

The next four days following the _phaser incident_ had almost been unbearable for Kirk given the feelings he had discovered he harbored toward Spock. Feelings that he was almost entirely convinced were pointless to feel.

Normally, he would talk about these things with Bones, but merely _thinking _about doing that made him shiver. Given that the doctor was still avoiding him, Kirk felt that it would be awkward to darken the doctor's doorstep with the declaration: _So, I'm in love with Spock. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?_

For one thing, Bones didn't even know he was gay—or, bisexual in this case, since he was obviously attracted to girls too—and while his friend wasn't homophobic or anything (not many people were nowadays) he just wasn't sure how to initiate that particular conversation. And if that topic wasn't hard enough, then telling Bones that he had some serious feelings for Spock would definitely make things difficult. Especially when he was still trying to process it himself.

So, not wanting to bother his friend with his problems, Kirk kept his feelings to himself over the next four days. If Bones had been on friendly terms with him again, the captain knew without a doubt he would have suspected that something wasn't right; that Kirk was hiding something. Fortunately, that was the one good thing about being avoided by both of your supposed friends; they didn't notice those things.

It was easier to avoid Bones though, given where the man worked on the ship. It was a lot harder to avoid Spock, and every time he looked at the Vulcan on the bridge, or from across the mess hall, he was reminded of what he would never have; of the love that would never be returned.

_It's fine, Jim. He doesn't know, and if he doesn't know, he can't reject you, and you can move on with your life. Love doesn't last forever, _Kirk would tell himself time and time again whenever he got the urge to go to Bones and just tell him everything, if only to ask the older man what he should do. Of course, he knew what Bones would say.

"_You need to talk to him, Jim. He won't know how you feel unless you talk to him," _Yes, he could just hear Bones' southern drawl as it spoke the fatherly advice he was so desperate to hear. Two weeks ago he might have taken such advice, but now? Kirk had already admitted so much to Spock about his feelings toward him. Sure he'd never come out and said, _I love you_, but he'd said the next best thing. He'd called Spock his best friend, and the Vulcan had shot him down. Numerous times. And fuck if it still didn't hurt him to think about.

Even now as he sat at his desk in his cabin, four days after the _phaser incident_ as the crew had taken to calling it; he just could not get Spock off of his mind. It seemed he was torn between just sucking it up and enduring this constant silence between them, or seeking Spock out and just telling the Vulcan what was going on; how he felt, and not giving a fucking thought to the aftermath.

Kirk could only imagine how much it would hurt though if he did tell Spock just _how_ deep his feelings went, and the Vulcan shot him down again. It would be different if Spock were still his friend. If he still had Spock's friendship, he could eventually learn to just accept that and be happy with it. For one thing, Kirk was pretty sure Spock wasn't into men, so the chance that love was returned in a romantic sense was reaching anyway. Spock had dated Uhura after all, and while homosexuality wasn't something frowned upon by most civilized people anymore in the modern day, it wasn't the most logical thing for Vulcans, who saw romantic relationships as a means to reproduce.

Kirk was sure he could accept Spock's friendship, given the Vulcan wasn't attracted to him in a sexual way. Would it be hard to accept? Well, yeah, but he'd eventually get over it. But to not have his love _or_ friendship? Kirk didn't think he'd be able to be on the same ship with him in all honesty. That _would_ be too hard.

Sighing heavily from the weight of his thoughts and his inability to not decide on a course of action, Kirk took a PADD out from his desk drawer and activated it. He needed to get his mind off of the Vulcan within the next hour before the Enterprise was due at Starbase 16 to rendezvous with the _USS Reliant_. He needed to be as professional as possible in front of the other Captain, who would no doubt be judging him the moment he stepped off the transporter pad. Knocking out some overdue reports would hopefully get him into that collected mindset and not the anguished one he got into whenever he thought about Spock.

A chime at his door, followed by the smooth cadence of the Vulcan that dominated his thoughts, put a blaring halt to that endeavor. "Spock here, Captain."

For a moment, Kirk panicked, but then told himself that Spock was probably coming to speak with him about the upcoming stop at Starbase 16. Knowing him, there were probably some things he'd missed on the itinerary, or the shore leave list when he'd put it together, and Spock had come here to correct those things.

"It's open," Kirk answered, and cursed himself for sounding so tired and pathetic.

While the door slid open, Kirk picked up the closest active PADD on his desk and started to pretend like he'd been reading it and _not_ thinking about Spock. "Good evening, Captain," Spock greeted him, effectively sending an involuntary shiver up his spine at the mere sound of his voice. Kirk dared not look up yet, lest that shiver turn into some pathetic look of longing.

"What can I do for you, Commander?" Kirk asked as professionally as possible and placed the PADD back on the desk so he could give his First Officer his full attention. It wasn't like he could just keep avoiding eye-contact. While sitting there, taking the Vulcan in, he noted that Spock was standing extremely rigidly; even more rigid than he usually stood, and underneath his arm was a PADD. Perhaps he hadn't come to discuss the itinerary. Perhaps he had come to give him some report.

No sooner had he asked the question that Spock was taking out said PADD from underneath his arm and handing it over to Kirk who glanced at it in confusion. Usually, Spock identified the things he was handing over, and because of that, the captain made no move to take it just yet.

"Umm, I don't think I'm expecting any new reports, Spo-_Commander_." Kirk stopped himself before he could complete Spock's name. In order to keep his own emotions at bay, he needed to stay detached, and verbalizing Spock's name just made that all the more harder. However, the fact that he'd almost said his name made the room undeniably more awkward.

To get himself away from that awkwardness, Kirk tore his attention down to the PADD in Spock's hands. "This isn't one of those data compilations is it? You know I can barely stomach those," he commented with the same awkwardness he felt.

"Negative, Captain. It is my resignation," Spock answered as casually as if Kirk had just asked the status of the ship and nothing more.

_What?_ Kirk thought in utter surprise and brought his widened eyes from the PADD up to Spock's face, hating how impassive it was. "Resignation? The hell? Why?" he blurted out loudly, completely confused and taken aback by the turn this conversation had taken. This had _not_ been what he was expecting.

"Serving aboard a Starship is no longer a pursuit I wish to endeavor in. Therefore, it is only logical that I resign my commission, and turn my skills to a more logical occupation," Spock answered placidly, and though it seemed impossible, the Vulcan's stance went even more rigid. Kirk didn't miss how his eyes averted to his shoulder once again, but he was too caught up in the moment to get upset about it.

Feeling a surge of anger, Kirk grabbed the PADD out of Spock's hand and let it drop to the desk with a hard thud. "I'm not accepting this, Spock," he bit out firmly. There was no way that…that Spock could _resign_. It just didn't fit. It didn't seem right. Out of everything thing that had happened, Kirk could not imagine that Spock would just up and leave. Not like this. Not in the middle of the fucking two-year mission. Did he not know how unprofessional that was? How unethical?

After watching the PADD, or _resignation_, hit the desk, Spock finally caught his eyes again and glared at him. "I am afraid you have no choice in the matter, Captain. You cannot force me to stay here against my will, and to do so would be illegal," Spock stated in that fucking tone that only Spock could master. But Kirk had had enough. He wasn't going to just accept something like this. If Spock had a problem with him, then it needed to be solved now. He might have been going out of his way to avoid Spock, but that didn't mean he wanted him gone. He'd just told himself that it was temporary. That eventually, someone would give in. He thought he'd have more time.

More time.

Feeling overwhelmed, Kirk abruptly stood from his desk and glared right back at Spock. "Look, Spock." If Kirk hadn't been tense and desperate, he would have noticed the minute shift of facial expression flit across Spock's face at the mention of his name; a brief expression of longing before it was carefully masked again underneath Vulcan stoicism. "Just because we don't…_speak_ as much as we used to, doesn't mean you have to leave the ship! You're still a great First Officer!" _You're still the most important person in my life, _"You can't just resign from Starfleet!" he finished in a desperate yell, hating his inability to come up with something more persuasive. Hating himself for being unable to tell the Vulcan how he really felt, and thereby possibly getting him to stay.

_Or get him to leave faster…_

Spock wasted no time in answering him. It was almost like he hadn't even heard Kirk's prior statement. Like he didn't even care. "My efficiency rating has dropped by ten percent, Captain."

_It has? _Kirk thought in mild surprise, and then cursed himself for not looking at the fucking efficiency reports. If he hadn't been so lost in his own pathetic swirl of self-pity, he would have looked at them.

"Therefore, to call me a _'great' _First Officer is an embellishment, as there is obviously much room for improvement. Someone else will do a better job in that position other than myself," Spock finished in a determined voice, and Kirk couldn't quite believe that he was hearing what he was hearing. That Spock was actually knocking and berating himself, and all over something as fucking stupid as a ten percent drop in efficiency. There had to be another reason for this. There _had _to be. People didn't leave in the middle of two-year missions because of their fucking efficiency.

But the question was, did Kirk really want to know the real reason?

"Dammit, Spock! What is bringing this on? Why do you want to leave?" he forced himself to ask. Something told him he already knew the reason. That Spock was leaving because of him. Because he didn't want to serve underneath him anymore. Perhaps it would be better to go on believing that it was all because of an efficiency rating rather than Spock's wish to be on a different ship than Kirk.

"I believe I have already stated my reasoning's, Captain. Serving in Starfleet is no longer an attractive endeavor for me when my time could be spent more productively elsewhere. Therefore, if you would kindly sign off on the…"

_The fuck? _Kirk thought loudly, daring to believe such a bullshit excuse. "Elsewhere?!" he started, cutting the Vulcan off. "You belong here! What—a 10% drop in efficiency? Big fucking deal, Spock! Jesus, most of my officers see a twenty to thirty percent drop every now and then! Shit happens! You can't be fucking perfect all the time! You just came back on duty for crying out loud!" he finished in a deafening shout, and then started to feel guilty.

Spock _had_ just come back on duty from a horrible one month stay on a horrible, empathic planet. And Kirk hadn't made things any easier by going out of his way to avoid him. Perhaps that was why this was happening. Perhaps, while Spock expressed the opposite, what he'd really wanted was to be around Kirk. Perhaps it had all been an act, and like an idiot…Kirk had fallen for it. Perhaps his friend had needed him, but pushed him away because of that need. If that were the case…

"Is this because I don't talk to you anymore?" Kirk started again, this time much softer. If Spock was secretly hurt by Kirk's avoidance, then he needed to know. He needed to know so he could correct it, and he needed to know that Kirk had never intended on ignoring him out of spite. "Because, if that's the reason, Spock, that was your goddamned decision, not mine. I tried to talk to you. God did I fucking try, and you're the one that decided we shouldn't be friends," he ending up saying with much more anger than he'd intended. How he'd ever talked his way into becoming the Captain was mystery.

But if Spock was pushing Kirk away out of some shame for needing him…well, that pissed him off to.

"I will not repeat words I have previously stated for your benefit. It is illogical as you have already heard them, and are quite capable of processing them at an intelligent level. Please sign my resignation, _Captain,_" Spock answered flatly, like he just didn't care.

It was then that Kirk lost it. All of the emotion he was expressing over this situation, all of the frustration, sadness, and fucking guilt he'd experienced over the past two weeks and four days, and Spock had the balls to stand there in front of him, and hand in his resignation without an ounce of emotion. Like it just didn't fucking matter. Like nothing over the past two weeks and four days had mattered.

Like Kirk had never fucking mattered.

"Dammit! Quit talking to me like a fucking computer! This is a big deal!" he screamed, knowing how petty it was to revert to that sort of name calling. But he didn't regret it because it was the truth. Here he was, losing everything, and Spock just stood there with that blank face like this was an everyday exchange.

And continued to stand there with that same blank face. The face Kirk had fallen in love with but could never touch or kiss.

It was in that moment that Kirk, for the first time, felt defeated. You could only fight for someone for so long, and if that person didn't join the fight, then it was a lost cause. Someone had once told him that people that cared about each other fought with each other. That actions carried out by the person you cared about could sometimes anger you so much because you were invested in how those actions affected them. If you were fighting, then on some level, you were still caring. _They_ were still caring.

But when you were the only one fighting? Usually, it meant that the other person had stopped caring a long time ago. Spock, it seemed, had stopped caring and likely never cared at all. And it made Kirk feel unbearably numb inside; cold. He'd likely lost Spock months ago, and just hadn't realized it yet.

Not being able to stand the conversation any longer, Kirk picked up the PADD, activated it, and signed the fucker with as much anger as he could instill without breaking it. He then thrust it in his desk with his other PADD's; a distant fucking memory now.

"I don't even know why I bothered," Kirk started, refusing to meet Spock's eyes; if the Vulcan was still even looking at him. "You want to leave? Fine, I won't stop you…and do you know why?"

Kirk looked up finally to see Spock walking toward the door. He didn't stop, and he didn't turn around despite the fact that he was still being spoken to.

_Good, I don't think I can take looking at his face and saying these words anyway, _the weak part of him thought just as he opened his mouth to finish his sentence.

"Because I don't _care_ enough about you anymore to stop you," the captain finished in the coldest voice he'd ever used toward Spock.

Finally, the Vulcan halted at that, and for a brief moment, Kirk's hopes had risen. Perhaps finally the Vulcan would turn back around and show some emotion. Perhaps finally he would tell Kirk that he didn't want to leave, but that he couldn't take this avoidance anymore. And if he didn't, then maybe he would turn around and finally just fucking yell or scream. _Anything_ would be fucking better than what he'd just witnessed.

However, Spock didn't turn around. Instead, he kept his back turned toward Kirk. "I will be leaving when we make our rendezvous with the _USS Reliant_ at Starbase 16 within the hour. I apologize for inconveniencing you with the loss of your First Officer, and as there will be no logical reason for us to speak again, live long and prosper, Captain Kirk."

And just like that…the Vulcan was gone.

((oOo))

**Four Hours Later**

McCoy sighed in annoyance as he paced his sickbay waiting for his Vulcan patient to arrive. He had been clear with Spock earlier that morning about this examination, and it really grated on him that Spock was now twenty minutes late. Rendezvous with the Reliant or not, McCoy was still the CMO on this ship, and when he set an appointment, he expected it to be honored, especially by someone in Spock's position—which was still on shaky ground.

Sighing again, the doctor pulled out his communicator and punched in the number for Spock's own device. If he had to threaten him with medical insubordination, he would. McCoy knew it was a bit harsh, even by his standards, but between Spock and Jim, he'd just about reached the end of the line as far as his patience went with the both of them.

To put it simply, since McCoy had put Spock back on duty, things had just gone from bad to worse in his opinion. Not only was the Vulcan still being as anti-social as ever, but Jim had finally reached his own limit with Spock and thrown in the towel, and it caused him to become thoroughly angry at his friend for giving up like that. It wasn't like Jim, and if McCoy were being honest…it unsettled him.

Jim had always gone on and on about no-win scenarios and how they didn't exist. Yet, within two weeks and four days…it seemed he'd thrown that belief out the window, and McCoy was not only scared for his friend, but also what that would mean for Spock.

"Of course no one answers…" McCoy voiced in exasperation and thrust his communicator back into his pocket. He knew the Vulcan never went anywhere without that device, which meant that he was probably avoiding the doctor, and why? "Nurse Chapel, watch that entrance," the doctor voiced Christine who was currently setting up a tray of hyposprays. "If that pointy-eared little shit walks in, you send him to my office," McCoy added vehemently just before he walked into said office to get his personal PADD.

"Of course, Doctor," the sweet, feminine voice sounded behind him.

Pulling out his PADD from the drawer, McCoy brought up Spock's own PADD information.

**Rang your communicator, but you never answered. You're 20 minutes late to your appointment. Get here, like yesterday.**

He pressed the send button with much more force than was necessary and all but threw his PADD onto the desk. He then pressed his head into his hands. Never before did he think that he could get this stressed out over Spock of all people. In fact, McCoy forgot the last time he'd been so worried about a crew member. These entire two weeks had been the equivalent of pulling teeth around that Vulcan. He still wasn't eating like the doctor wanted him too, and despite Jim telling him that Spock was doing fine up on the bridge, McCoy just hadn't been able to shake the feeling that the captain wasn't telling him all there was to tell. Especially when he'd asked Uhura instead of Jim.

"I don't know, Leonard," she'd told him five days ago when she'd come in for her routine examination. McCoy had taken that time to slip in a few questions about Spock that he hadn't thought Jim would answer truthfully, and fortunately, the Communications Officer had been more than willing to oblige him.

"I mean, he seems to be doing the same work he always does on the bridge, but sometimes, I'll look over at him and he just seems…" Uhura had paused as if the memory troubled her, which, it probably had. "He just seems to have this lost look sometimes. Like…like he doesn't know what he's doing there," she had finally finished just as McCoy gave her a standard hypo-injection.

"What does that mean?" he had asked her bluntly, but inside, he had gotten a surge of worry.

She had laughed, but the laugh had been hollow and pained. "I know it must sound stupid, but I can't explain it. I just know that there's something up with him. I keep hoping that maybe the Captain will get through to him, but they don't even eat together anymore. And, I tried doing it myself, but he shut me down," Uhura had replied with a hint of bitterness; a bitterness that McCoy had and still mirrored.

"Yeah, well, he seems to have shut everyone down. As far as Jim goes, I think he will come around, I just fear that it might be too late," McCoy had commented, which had caused the woman to give him an almost fearful look. They hadn't said anything else to one another the entire examination, and when she'd left his sickbay, he'd felt worse than before she'd arrived.

In addition to Uhura, McCoy had also taken to questioning officers in the Science Department as well, but they had been just as tight-lipped as Jim had been. Some had told him that Spock had been a little more _demanding _than he used to be, but that wasn't exactly a reason to take someone off duty, especially a Vulcan. It seemed that just like with Uhura, the Science Department had been a dead end as well.

However, there was one thing that McCoy planned on bringing up with Spock tonight at his examination, and that was his efficiency rating. It had dropped ten percent in barely two weeks. For a human, that wasn't such a big deal. A lot of factors went into efficiency ratings after all, but for a Vulcan who had had a consistent 100% efficiency rating for the past year, it was downright disturbing.

Disturbing enough that when Spock decided to actually show up, McCoy was going to get right to the bottom of it, one way or another. Errantly, he wondered if Jim had noticed the drop, but if he had then it would only give him more reason to be mad at his friend. He had told Jim to watch Spock, and to tell him if he done anything out of the ordinary.

A ten percent fucking drop certainly qualified as such, and so help that little bastard if he'd known about Spock's rating, and hadn't said anything.

Thoroughly riled up now, McCoy got up from his desk and went to the terminal on his wall. He was going to give Spock another twenty minutes, but he just couldn't wait anymore. If he did, he'd just get angrier at Jim, and then when Spock actually _did_ show up, he'd end up taking it out on the Vulcan instead.

"Computer, location of Commander Spock," he spoke as calmly as possible into the panel, leaned back, and waited while the system discerned the Vulcan's location.

**Location of Commander Spock: Unavailable. **

_What?_ McCoy thought and took a deep breath. _Unavaliable_ meant that the requested crewmember wasn't on board, and, as far as he had known, Jim and everyone else involved in the dealings with the _USS Reliant_ had come back on board an hour ago, and shore leave hadn't started yet. Therefore, unless Spock was down on the Starbase for some reason, he should be on the ship.

"Computer, location of Captain Kirk," McCoy spoke again.

** Location of Captain Kirk, James T: Personal Quarters. **

McCoy sighed. It seemed like Jim was in his personal quarters a lot these days.

Face set in a scowl, McCoy headed out of his office and toward the one person he really didn't feel like talking to at the moment. But if anyone knew where Spock was, it would be the captain.

On the way to Jim's quarters, the doctor encountered Uhura walking swiftly through the corridors, and judging by the look on her face, he'd caught her at a bad time. She looked upset.

"Miss Uhura, have you seen Spock? He's late for his appointment," he asked her, hoping that maybe she knew because it would save him the trouble of asking Jim.

Instead of answering him, she just stared at him, her eyes growing moist with every second. _What the hell?_ the doctor inwardly panicked. "Uhura…" McCoy started to ask again.

"Kirk hasn't told you?" she interrupted, her voice cracking.

McCoy felt a heavy sensation in his gut. "Told me what?" he asked in a wary tone. Most people didn't know that Jim and he were avoiding one another, so of course Uhura probably had assumed that whatever news Jim had known, the doctor would have known as well.

Uhura shook her head, looked away, and then focused back in on McCoy again. "Spock left the Enterprise, Leonard. He gave Kirk his resignation almost four hours ago, right before we arrived at the Starbase. The bridge knows because he wasn't there during the dealings with the _USS Reliant _and when Sulu asked Kirk about it, he told us."

McCoy blinked, twice, and quickly shook his head. "What do you mean, _resigned? _What the hell—why hasn't anyone told me about this? I'm his fucking doctor!" he sputtered in shock, which caused a few of the passing officers to glance at the pair in bemusement.

Uhura's nostrils flared. "Look, I don't know, Doctor. You should ask the _Captain_ about that. Now, I don't want to be rude, but I really just want to be alone right now…" she said, her voice taking on a desolate tone. She was in pain over Spock leaving; that much was clear.

"Oh I intend to ask him alright," McCoy answered Uhura angrily and stepped around her, his pace quickening drastically toward Jim's quarters. Spock had resigned, four hours ago, and no one—_no one!—_had bothered to fucking tell him. If he was irritated before, he was royally pissed now.

Once he was at Jim's quarters, he didn't even bother chiming, he just punched in his override code with a little too much force and barged right the hell on in. Jim wasn't at his desk like McCoy thought he would have been. Instead, the young captain was on the other side of his bed on the floor, his back up against it and his knees pulled to his chest. On any other day, McCoy might have gone soft at such a vulnerable display, but not today.

"You want to fucking tell me why Spock resigned? And why I had to find out about it through the goddamned grapevine?" McCoy wasted no time in yelling right when the door slid shut behind him.

Jim didn't look at him, but answered none the less. "Not now, Bones. Just…not now…"

"No, it's gonna be right fucking now, Jim. I want some answers. I need to know why the First Officer on this ship just decided to up and quit with no fucking notice. You realize how unorthodox that is? Hell, people have gotten dishonorable discharges for shit like this!" McCoy snapped as he came to stand in front of the seated Captain.

Jim finally glared up at him, and the doctor noted that his eyes were red rimmed and blood shot, like he'd been crying. But McCoy was so mad right now he was beyond giving a fuck.

"I don't fucking know, Bones! He just came in here, and handed me his resignation! The fuck do you want me to say?!" Jim yelled angrily, his voice hoarse.

For a moment, McCoy didn't say anything. He couldn't without it coming out in a yell, and right now, given Jim's emotional state, yelling would get him nowhere. However, he couldn't keep from speaking his mind either. This could have all been avoided if Jim had just been more patient and more understanding. "Goddamnit, Jim. _Goddamnit,"_ McCoy started softly whilst shaking his head. "I told you this would happen. I told you that you would end up driving him away with your belligerent attitude…"

"Please, Bones. I really don't want to hear your '_I told you so'_ speech. I know I deserve it, but…I just _can't _listen to that right now."

"Then what do you want me to say, Jim? Because if you think I'm going to hold your hair, you're sadly fucking mistaken," McCoy answered tiredly.

Jim looked away for a long moment, obviously lost in thought, and when he turned his head back to face Bones, there were actual tears there now and not just evidence that there had been. "I want you to tell me that he'll change his mind. That he's just mad, and that he will be back. Because to believe that I really just let Spock walk out of here like that…" his voice trailed off, and McCoy knew he'd only done it to keep his tears from overwhelming him.

Feeling most of his anger leave him at such a vulnerable confession and desperate wish, Bones slid to the floor beside Jim and sat shoulder to shoulder with him; both of them looking straight ahead at the wall. He was still mad, but right now, Jim was in pain, and didn't matter how much of it might be his own fault; McCoy couldn't ignore someone in pain.

"Why don't you start from the beginning. Just tell me what happened," McCoy prompted gently.

From beside him, Jim took a deep shuddering breath, and opened his mouth to speak.

McCoy sat quietly throughout the entire recount; though when he got to the part where he'd apparently told Spock he didn't care about him anymore, McCoy couldn't help but speak up.

"You shouldn't have said that, Jim. And firstly, because you know as well as I do that it's not true," he chastised.

"I know," Jim replied quietly, making McCoy round on him.

"Then why did you say it?"

"I don't know."

"Bullshit, Jim. Bull. Shit." McCoy's voice was accusing and harsh, and it made Jim turn and glare at him.

"I said it because I'm…" Jim started, but his voice became so low and incomprehensible that McCoy couldn't even understand the rest of his sentence.

"What?" the doctor prompted, straining his ear.

"I said I'm in love with him!" Jim suddenly shouted, his voice deafening.

McCoy watched, stunned, as Jim's face paled considerably and he hid his expression in his hands. "You didn't hear that. Just pretend you didn't hear that," Jim went on to ramble miserably. But McCoy _had_ heard it.

And it really didn't surprise him, not when he sat back and examined all the signs that were there. The looks Jim would give Spock? The private time they used to spend together? The way he'd talk about him? And finally, the sheer reactions Jim would have anytime Spock had been hurt, or even now in the past week? Now that his friend had freely admitted it…McCoy had felt stupid for not putting it together earlier.

Perhaps he hadn't because Jim had never told him he had gay tendencies. Even at the academy, Jim had always gone after the girls, not the boys, but then again…perhaps it just took the _right_ boy to come along to awaken that particular interest…

And of course, that _right_ boy had to be pointy-eared fucking Spock. Wasn't this the story of his life.

"How long have you known?" McCoy asked after a few seconds.

Jim brought his head back out of his hands. "I think I've known for awhile, but I only put it together four days ago."

"Let me guess, the explosion in Lab 4?" McCoy suggested knowingly, making the captain turn to regard him thoughtfully.

"Yeah…how did you know?" he asked in slight confusion at McCoy's abilities of perception.

"Jim. I was there before you. I saw you walk in and I saw the way your eyes searched for Spock desperately, and when you found him," McCoy paused and took a deep breath. "Well, let's just say that I've never seen an expression like that on your face. Like you'd just been reborn or something," he went on, scolding himself for not seeing the significance before.

"I hate this," Jim said, and McCoy watched as the man clenched his fists. "I hate feeling this way for him. I hate that despite everything I've done to keep this from happening, it happened anyway, and now it's too late to do anything about it because he's fucking gone and I'm left with all this…this…" Jim paused as if searching for the right words to convey his exasperation. "This fucking aftermath!" he finally managed.

McCoy wanted to tell Jim that him acting like an asshole the entire two weeks and four days hadn't helped sway Spock into staying, but at the moment, it just seemed like the wrong thing to say. "I've been in love before, kid. I know what it feels like, trust me," he settled for.

Jim turned to him, a desperate look in his eyes. "What do you do? How do you _unlove_ someone that doesn't love you back?"

_You don't._

"How do you know that Spock doesn't return your feelings?" McCoy answered with yet another question, which really wasn't that far-fetched. Aside from the past two weeks and some odd days, Spock had been putting off his own signs where Jim was concerned.

Jim laughed hollowly. "He doesn't, Bones. Of that I'm sure. He could never love me."

"I don't know, Jim. I've learned to never jump to conclusions where that Vulcan is concerned," McCoy argued.

"He wouldn't have left if he did, Bones," Jim deadpanned.

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "And you know this how?"

"Because I wouldn't have left. Not like that…"

_Except you did leave, in your own way, _McCoy wanted to say, because even if Jim hadn't physically gone anywhere, he still hadn't been here, not the way Spock had needed him to be. But he would save that conversation for another day.

"I even contacted the starbase, asking if he was still there. I thought that maybe he was just acting impulsively, and that he'd realize what he was doing and beam back up to the ship," Jim furthered.

"And?" McCoy found himself asking when the man neglected to continue. He couldn't help but get his own hopes up at that.

"And they told me that Spock had left on a transport shuttle two and half hours ago. That he was already gone," Jim answered his voice pained and full of regret. "I should have gone after him. I should have begged him to stay. Told him that whatever it was, we'd work it out, but I didn't," he went on desolately.

McCoy honestly didn't know what to say to that because he kind of agreed with Jim's self assessment. He _should _have done those things, and because he hadn't, Spock had gotten on the first fucking ship he could get his telepathic hands on and gotten the hell out of dodge.

"He even left his communicator and uniform here, Bones. Everything with the Starfleet insignia is still here in his room."

McCoy still couldn't comment, especially to that because it sounded like Spock had really made up his mind about leaving.

"Do you think he'll come back?" Jim asked timidly, bringing McCoy from his silent musings.

"I don't know, Jim. I don't know." It was a shitty answer, but it was the only one he could give at the moment. "But I hope he does," McCoy added a second later, and he really meant it. Spock might not have been to McCoy what he was to Jim, but he still cared about the Vulcan. And now that he was on some random shuttle gliding across space, McCoy couldn't keep checking up on him. He couldn't make sure Spock ate all of his food and gained back the weight he stubbornly refused to put back on, and he couldn't find out once in for all what had really been troubling the Vulcan—if there was anything troubling him at all.

He never thought he would say it, but McCoy was really going to miss Spock, and he hoped as much as Jim did that perhaps the Vulcan would change his mind and come back, and not just for their sakes, but for the Vulcan's own sake. 

**A.N. My next few chapters are going to probably center around Spock the most. Arc 2 is mainly Spock centric, but I will be giving brief Jim POV's here and there. The song that inspired this chapter is "About Today" by the National. It's perfect for Jim because of this tid bit here: "Today, you were far away, and I didn't ask you why. What could I say. I was far away. You just walked away, and I just watched you."**

**Now, to the person who told me I shouldn't be allowed to write in this fandom, and that my writing was shit because I spend too much time on detail, and that I was a sadist for writing this and also took the time to bash my readers as well? If you are reading this, I hope you enjoyed the fact that I updated today regardless of your words, and will continue to do so. **

**Thanks for reading guys! I would love to hear your thoughts and reactions! **


	12. Where Will You Go?

**A.N. Hello everyone! It's Sunday again, and here is the promised update! This is really the beginning of Arc 2, and I'm curious if by the end of this chapter some of you will have clearer predictions on what this arc will entail. **

**BIG thank yous to the reviews for the last chapter. They were freaking awesome, when I came home last Sunday night from a work, I went to sleep a happy woman. **

**Chapter Twelve**

**Where Will You Go?**

Right after his handing in his resignation, Spock wasted no time in heading back to his quarters; the people he passed nothing but a blur in the face of his brand new migraine.

Once back in the safety of his room, Spock permitted himself a moment to lean his head up against the wall in an attempt to process the severity of what had just happened; of the words he had just heard spoken to him and vice versa. But it was just too painful to attempt to comprehend. Just the mental sound of Jim's voice in his mind made his head throb, and his eyes and throat burned with the want to shed his new emotions in the form of tears; pathetic, illogical tears that he did not deserve to produce. He did not deserve to be this distraught over something that could have been entirely prevented.

Despite knowing this though, his body still pushed him to express what he wanted so desperately to express, and Spock knew that he needed to get his mind off of it. Perhaps if he devoted all of his energy to packing, he could accomplish such a feat. He needed to get himself far away from here as quickly as possible anyway.

Taking a deep breath, Spock massaged his aching temples before he headed to his closet, pulled out the two bags he had taken with him down to Altriri IV, and proceeded to pack. The quicker he completed gathering his things, the quicker he could leave before his human half convinced him to stay.

The first thing he packed were his toiletries, then he moved on to his incense and the meditation mat. The mat had become nothing but a useless decoration over the past two weeks and four days given his inability to perform the simple act of meditation, however, he did not wish to leave it behind or dispose of it despite how useless it had become to him. After that, Spock removed his communicator and placed it on the desk. Given it had been a Starfleet issued one, it technically did not belong to him anymore; but his PADD had been personally acquired, therefore, Spock placed it in a small satchel so he could carry it with him on whatever shuttle he ended up on. Logically, he could have just put it in one of his large bags. It wasn't like he would be utilizing it to speak with anyone, but old habits were hard to rid oneself of.

The next items to go into the duffel bags were his non-Starfleet issued clothes, which unfortunately, only consisted of a single civilian Vulcan outfit, and two pairs of civilian Terran clothing; one of which had been purchased for him as a gift from Nyota when they had been romantically involved. Spock decided he would pack that pair, and wear the other off of the ship. He knew that he would have to purchase more clothing as soon as possible though. Three pairs of clothes would only get him so far, and really, if Spock were being honest, it was really only two pairs. Where he was going, it was unlikely he would ever don his Vulcan clothing. It would only make him stand out more, and he did not wish for that.

When Spock finally moved on to the meditation robe that had been stored underneath a litany of Starfleet clothing in his drawer, he hesitated. There was a reason that garment had been placed underneath everything else, and it had to do directly with Altriri IV. Spock had not worn that robe since the High Priest; and quite frankly, he could not imagine himself ever wearing it again after the things that he had done whilst having it on. In fact, just looking at it made the Vulcan nauseous, and for a moment all he wished to do was throw it in the waste dispenser and hope that maybe as the ship destroyed it, it would destroy a bit of his pain as well. As much as he wished to destroy it though, Spock knew he could not. That robe had been a gift from his mother before he had left for Starfleet Academy so many years ago, and as much as he hated looking upon it now; as much as he hated feeling the cloth between his sensitive fingers, he could not discard it. It was the only tangible thing he had left from her given that everything else had been destroyed with Vulcan. Tainted or not. He could never destroy such an item.

That did not mean he would have to look upon it. Like the chessboard, Spock would keep it out of site.

After folding the robe neatly and placing it in a bag, the time had come to change out of his uniform, and into civilian attire. It did not belong to him anymore, and if Spock were being honest, it had been quite some time since he had felt deserving to wear the blue science shirt anyway. Anyone wearing the Starfleet insignia would not have done what he had done down on that planet, and thusly, it only seemed apt to remove it here in his cabin. That life was gone now. It was best to cut ties with it quickly.

Spock shivered violently as he pulled the blue shirt along with the black undershirt over his head, exposing his chest to the room which instantly dropped ten degrees. The next items to come off were the pants and shoes, and for a moment, the Vulcan just stood there in silence and nakedness, shamefully waiting for something dire to happen to him. He had been working steadily over the past two weeks and four days to rid himself of such a habit, but had yet to be successful. He could only hope that with time, such a learned instinct would fade away.

He dressed himself quickly in another set of black pants, black shoes, and a maroon colored button-up dress shirt with long sleeves. The shirt felt too thin and papery against his skin, and he wished he had chosen something thicker when he had originally purchased the clothing. The shirt he now donned still left him feeling cold and exposed.

Knowing it was illogical to waste further time regretting such decisions; Spock took his uniform and shoes to the closet and left them in the laundry unit. He had barely turned back around to exit the closet when his eyes caught sight of the chessboard sitting idly on the shelf. His Vulcan half told him to the leave the chessboard, as it would only cause more unnecessary weight to his luggage. Plus, the item in itself was quite unnecessary anyway.

However, despite it serving no logical purpose anymore, it served all the emotional purpose in the world. Spock could not find it in him to leave it behind. He would likely never see Jim again save for on the holonews. Given that fact, the chessboard would be the only remnant left of who had become the most important person in his life; James T. Kirk. His captain had once been the most influential person in his life as well, but that title belonged to another now; and despite that influence being a purely negative one, Spock could not see himself giving that title to anyone else.

Mind made up, Spock tenderly and carefully picked up the chessboard, held it close to him purely because of some illogical, emotional need, and walked back into the room to deposit it gently into the duffel bag with his other items. He did not place it in the bag containing his meditation robe. He would not taint the chessboard by permitting it to touch something that had been so defiled by S'teth on various occasions.

Once the chessboard had been safely stowed away, Spock glanced at his chronometer. He still had forty-five minutes left until they arrived at Starbase 16. That was forty-five minutes he could spend lying down, attempting to calm his chronic migraine as much as possible.

That forty-five minutes had proven useless though. About half way through, his nose had started bleeding again, but Spock's only thought had been that it would be better for it to happen in the solitude of his quarters than on the Starbase in plain view. He had only hoped that once he secured passage on a shuttle…his bleeding nose would not plague him.

((oOo))

Leaving the Enterprise seemed to be fairly easy, which to his shame, Spock actually found disturbing. Logically, he expected his exit to be swift and efficient. After all, he had not told anyone about his resignation, save the Captain. So it was not unexpected that as he walked down the fortunately scarce corridors most people refrained from questioning him about his drastic, unprofessional decision. Some eyed the civilian clothing and the two bags with raised eyebrows, and their curiosity was palpable to his sensitive mind, but they did not add their own commentary in the verbal sense.

Spock was grateful for that. He did not think he would be able to speak with the throbbing pain in his head anyway, and he only hoped by some calculation he was unable to perform that he did not run into someone he was more familiar with such as Nyota, or even worse, Dr. McCoy.

Perhaps Spock owed the general ease of his travel to the fact that he and Jim were the only ones who knew of his coming departure. Such a thing would definitely make his effort to leave unproblematic. He did not think Jim had informed Dr. McCoy yet because the Vulcan had no doubts that such a character would have already contacted him, or intercepted him before he had a chance to leave. It _was_ in the doctor's nature after all as Spock had come to observe more closely than ever in the previous two weeks and four days.

While logically Spock was acting as he should; on an emotional level, he found himself rather conflicted while he continued his journey down to the transporter room mere minutes after the Enterprise had come into orbit around Starbase 16. Some of the most pivotal moments in his life had happened onboard the ship, and he could not help but feel that it should have been harder for him to leave; to walk onward to an uncertain future from the first place he had really been able to call home.

In fact, when Spock finally made it down to the transporter room, two large bags in hand, the Ensign manning the controls said cheerily, "I see you're heading down early, Commander. I'll let the Captain know so he doesn't have to wait for you." Obviously, the young man assumed that Spock had just decided to start the rendezvous early. Such an assumption was actually quite illogical, given his attire and baggage. For if he was beaming down on account of the mission, he would be outfitted in his uniform, not the uncomfortable clothing adorning his body at that moment.

If Spock had still been an actual Commander, he might point out as much, but ultimately, he figured that silence was the best option, and nodded his head shortly in reply.

The ensign frowned at his lack of verbal response, but said nothing. Just before Spock dematerialized, he experienced a wave of regret at not saying goodbye to the people who had once been his friends. There was a surprisingly large part of him that would have found pleasure at seeing Nyota, Dr. McCoy, and the other officers he had worked so closely with one last time. He did not know if he would ever see them again, and despite having an eidetic memory, his last memories of them did little to quell that emotional yearning to find some semblance of closure. However, despite experiencing a certain pain at ending it this way, he knew he had done the right thing in not seeing them off. Spock imagined that the doctor would have expressed his disappointment quite passionately along with Nyota if he had done it differently anyway. Spock _had_ had an appointment with the doctor after all that was supposed to take place later; an appointment that would be missed now.

Aside from Nyota and McCoy, would anyone else be disappointed? Would they hate him now because he had left so abruptly? Or, would they secretly rejoice? Spock found it highly irritating that he cared, because whether or not the officers that had once served under him held him in a positive or negative light bore no weight on his future. Thus, his entire train of thought was illogical and quite un-Vulcan.

Yet, Spock could not keep himself from wondering.

Perhaps, unlike himself, they would not care at all. And the more Spock thought about that possible scenario, the more likely it became in his mind. Jim had said it himself, had he not?

_Do you know why? Because I don't __**care**__ enough about you anymore to stop you. _

Jim's last words still felt like a knife through his heart (or more correctly, his head). It would not be too surprising if the rest of the crew harbored the same attitude toward him. Despite the outcome though, Spock knew that the least he should have done was inform them of his decision to leave, even if in a outgoing message from his personal PADD. He felt mildly ashamed that he hadn't done that. However, it was too late to correct that mistake, and the last thing Spock thought of before the lights whisked him away was that, for the second time, Jim was not there to see him off.

Jim would _never_ be there to see him off again.

**((oOo))**

**One Week Later**

Spock stared blankly out of the shuttle transport's windows as the craft made its way to Earth's _Space Dock_. He had been aboard the transport for nearly a week now.

A long, cramped, painful, and anxious week.

The shuttle was too small for such a lengthy travel time, but anything else that had been available had been far more than Spock had been willing to pay. Credits had never been an issue while he was employed by Starfleet. His rank paid well, and Spock considered himself far from a materialistic or worldy individual. In fact, given the usual surplus in credits Spock had often found in his possession, the Vulcan had usually donated that surplus to a charity of some sort.

Over the past year, that charity had been the relief funds for New Vulcan. He had donated anonymously as he always did, for he had never given credits for some form of recognition or praise. In fact, Spock had actually gained a sense of fulfillment after making such donations. And while such a feeling could have been viewed as emotional, Spock had chosen to look at his donations in a logical manner. The Vulcans on New Vulcan had needed it far more than him; and so had the charities he had given to before them. And, at least by helping to increase the funds for supplies and building materials for New Vulcan, Spock had been able to help his people in some way.

But now he would no longer be able to donate the surplus of his credits. Now that he was no longer affiliated with the Fleet, Spock was not quite sure where he stood financially, especially given the way he had exited the ship. Being that he had terminated his service without notice, and in the middle of a mission without medical reasoning, Spock knew that Starfleet would hit him with termination fees; most of that going toward an officer to be commissioned to the Enterprise to take up his previous position. Also, because he had left so abruptly, he knew he would not receive a severance package either, which would have been the expected thing upon a formal resignation carried out in the professional way. Such a thing was automatically forfeited if one resigned in the fashion that Spock had done though. Therefore, he expected to receive nothing from Starfleet. In fact, he owed them now.

So, of course Spock had plenty of credits for a higher class transport, but since he wasn't quite sure what he would actually owe, he thought it best not to push it where those credits were concerned lest he not have enough to last him until he acquired another profession; thus…a weeklong trip in the worst shuttlecraft Spock had ever inhabited.

The craft was far above occupancy as far as Spock had been concerned, and that fact alone had been a direct cause of the severe discomfort he had experienced throughout the entire trip. Back on the Starbase, Spock had complained to the pilot and cited safety regulations when he saw just how many individuals he was going to be traveling with. But instead of taking him seriously, the pilot had merely laughed at him in a condescending manner.

"I do not see why my words are a cause for humor. You are breaking safety regulations," Spock had reiterated right as a family of four Andorians shuffled past him, bumping his shoulder in the process. His head had panged violently at the gesture, which had in turn caused him to frown. The pilot however, had taken his expression as one of annoyance.

"You're welcome to wait till another one comes next week to take your ass back to Earth if you don't like the way I run things. In the meantime, get the fuck in, or shut up. This isn't one of your _fancy_ Starships," the pilot had spat before turning and continuing his pre-flight checks; Spock having been effectively dismissed.

It had taken him several minutes of indecision, but ultimately, Spock had elected to board the shuttle despite his internal protests. Before, he might have complained to a superior on the Starbase. But by doing that, Spock had risked just drawing more attention to himself. He would have also risked the shuttle getting shut down for _breaking _those regulations he had quoted, which then might have delayed his exit if not have put a stop to it altogether. It had not been logical to delay his arrival to Earth when, if he waited till the next week, the next shuttle would likely be the same.

When the pilot had seen him getting on, he grumbled, "Decided to come along, I see. I better not hear complaining the entire way or you'll be off this transport, and waiting for another one on some other Starbase."

Spock had not replied, and as he shuffled inside and squeezed himself in-between two Tellarites, who had been noticeably annoyed by his presence, he made a mental promise to not utter one complaint. It shouldn't have been hard for him anyway. The pilot had not been the first individual he had promised such a thing to. He had had no rank anymore as it was; no title deserving of respect. If the pilot had wanted to throw him off the ship, Spock had had no doubts that he would do just that.

Spock had barely been two hours off of the Starbase and making his way to Earth on a shuttle transport when various messages had started bombarding his inbox on his personal PADD; all of them from Nyota. Being that she had been one of the officers selected to participate in the mission, it was not unexpected that she would have been among the first to find out about his resignation.

Though extremely reluctant, Spock had taken the time to read every single one of her messages despite how painful it might have been for him. He had never intended to upset those closest to him like he had done. But despite feeling worse as the litany of emotional messages went on, he had felt strangely numb by the end of them. All of her messages had contained colorful metaphors that had gone somewhere along the lines of:

_**Spock. Please comm me and tell me it's not true. Please tell me you didn't actually resign!**_

And,

_**How could you, you bastard?How could you just resign like that?**_

And,

_**You didn't even have the decency to say goodbye to me?**_

The last message from her had read,

_**Have a nice life Spock. I hope it's everything you wanted it to be.**_

There had been no messages from Jim, but Spock decided to stretch that numb feeling he had acquired reading Nyota's messages to the captain as well. It had been unsettling to do such a thing, because never would Spock have chosen to feel _numb_ toward his former captain willingly. Jim deserved so much more than that. But it was just too painful. Too hard. He should have stowed his PADD down with his other luggage. At least there, it would not have been able to haunt him so.

Surprisingly, about an hour after Nyota's message, two from the doctor had entered his inbox as well. Spock had opened _those_ messages warily, for he honestly hadn't known what to expect. In the first one, the doctor had merely asked him:

_**Rang your communicator, but you never answered. You're twenty minutes late to your appointment. Get here, like yesterday.**_

Just like he had done with Nyota, Spock neglected to answer the message. He could not bear to explain himself twice.

About forty-five minutes after that first message, the doctor had sent another one. That one, slightly more distressed than its predecessor. Obviously, the doctor had become knowledgeable to his resignation.

_**Goddamnit, Spock! How the hell could you resign?! You're my patient, dammit! Who's going to follow up with you? Who's going to make sure you keep eating! Who's going to make sure you take care of yourself? Damn you, you stubborn shit! I cannot believe…**_

But Spock had never finished the message. He did not work for Starfleet anymore; therefore what Dr. McCoy had felt about his treatment had not mattered.

Or at least, that's what Spock had told himself was the reason he abstained from finishing the rest of the message. He should have just turned the PADD off and placed it back in his satchel, but the prospect of the possibility of _another_ message coming through had been too tempting to ignore.

However, as the shuttle had traveled further and further away from Starbase 16, thereby placing his PADD out of range of the Enterprise, there had still been no messages from Jim. Jim had not even told him goodbye, and it had shamed Spock that he would become so emotional over something as illogical as parting words. They had just been words.

But sometimes, words seemed to hurt the most.

Again, Spock had fought to make himself numb to the negative emotions that were making their way to the surface, but it had been to no avail. _How do human beings process emotions such as these?_ Spock had asked himself in despair as he finally sealed the PADD away in the satchel with much more vigor than had been necessary. He had wondered if he would ever grow used to their intensity, and their sheer talent of completely influencing his actions and his mood. But after almost a month of asking himself that very same question every single minute of every single day, Spock had also wondered when the point would come that he would simply stop caring about processing them. When that moment would come when he would just decide to give in to those emotions, and permit them to rule every single action in his life.

Not having the PADD to occupy his hands any longer, Spock had started pathetically wishing to hold the chessboard (the one stowed away in the shuttle's small cargo space below) instead to placate the sharp pang of sadness that had erupted as a result of pondering just what had happened to his life. And it had been at that moment that the Vulcan had put his foot down, and decided to remind himself of just _why_ leaving the Enterprise and Jim had been the best decision, and _why _he needed to put Jim at the back of his mind and cease his illogical wishes for emotional comfort over something that could not be changed.

_Kaidith._ Spock was Vulcan. He did not need emotional comfort. Jim did not care about him anymore. He had said as much, so it had been logical to put the human from his mind so he would be able to start anew.

_Kaidith. _What is, is.

However, following that philosophy had been easier said than done. In fact, the only thing that made such an endeavor possible had been the assumption that if Jim no longer cared for him, at least Spock would no longer be a danger to him. At least by being far away and forgotten, Spock could not hurt Jim with his secrets. It had been interesting to Spock, that viewing it in such an emotional way had been more successful than acting upon the logical Vulcan philosophies his people had abided by for centuries.

It had been somewhat morbidly fascinating how one event could change the course of one's life, and everything they had believed in, forever.

That first day aboard the transport had been unbearable for Spock, and he had found it remarkable that his nose hadn't started bleeding. However, it hadn't been until the transport's first night cycle that things had become increasingly unbearable. The bunks where people had been permitted to sleep were no more than a foot apart from one another, and they had no curtains for privacy. In addition to those negative aspects, the bunks had not been assigned to passengers. Therefore, every night Spock had found himself sleeping in different bunk than the night before.

Or…_pretend_ to sleep anyway.

On the Enterprise, Spock had had the privacy of a room. True, he had not been able to escape his nightmares, or escape that wave of fear that would ghost over him anytime Dr. McCoy had entered his quarters; but still… he had at least felt some semblance of safety behind the locked door of his cabin. No one could touch him, or harm him if they were behind the door; unable to gain entrance to his room, and consequently, to him.

On the transport however, there had been no such privacy; there had been no such door, and it had made Spock feel tremulous amounts of fear and anxiety every time the cycles changed, telling everyone to sleep. The Vulcan had not wanted to be so vulnerable and exposed to the other individuals on board, and he had _hated _how exposed the night cycle made him. Yes, Spock's strength far outweighed that of the other races on board; but what if they had decided to attack him as a group? What if, while everyone was asleep and ignorant, a group of them came to Spock's small cot, placed hands upon his mouth to silence him, held him down with their arms, and then took him there in the quietness of the night cycle? What—_who_ would have stopped them?

_No one_ _would_, Spock had constantly told himself while his wide eyes darted across the room as he lay in his bunk; searching for potential threats. What had previously been a time for rest and rejuvenation had turned into the most fatiguing aspect of his entire day. It had become utterly exhausting to have to be on high alert for such long periods of time. It had become utterly exhausting to never permit his body to relax, to always be tense and ready to fight or flee.

The constant fear of being attack hadn't been the only thing ailing the Vulcan throughout his exhausting week aboard the transport though. He had thought he'd known pain back on the Enterprise, but the truth was, he hadn't _known_ pain until he had been forced to occupy the same space for a week with little more than two feet at the most between him and the next person; whether sleeping or sitting in the main room. Of course, there had been small areas allotted for exercise, but those areas had been as crowded as anywhere else on the ship, and Spock had found it easier to just remain in one stagnant place as long as he had been able.

Because of that, the emotions after the second day had grown so overbearing that Spock's hand had practically attached itself to his forehead for the rest of the trip to quell the constant, festering throbbing. It seemed if he hadn't been anticipating a sexual attack, then he had been focusing the rest of his energy on attempting to keep his migraine to a tolerable level.

He hadn't been very successful in that either, because several times people had inquired about his health.

"Are you okay, sir?" Someone, a female, had asked him after a particularly loud whimper in the ship's night cycle on the third day when everyone had been trying to sleep. The inquiry had taken him by surprise at first, and he hadn't been able to prevent the large jump his body gave in response.

"I am functional, ma'am. Thank you for your concern," Spock had responded as placidly and pain free as possible as soon as his heart had calmed down.

She had frowned at him before turning onto her other side, and nodding back off to sleep. At that moment Spock had wanted nothing more than to take his pillow, and place it on top of his face to mask his pain so as not to disturb anyone else and invite further concern or scrutiny. But if he had done that…then he wouldn't have been able to continue watching the room in case someone decided to attack him. He decided that he would just have to try harder to manage his pain.

That female had not been the last person to ask him about his health, but just like with her, Spock had assured everyone else that had made the inquiry that he was _functional._ Eventually though, near the end of the journey, people had stopped asking him given his never changing response, and it had given him one less thing to worry about.

Now, as Spock watched tiredly from his cramped seat at the window, he could not wait to be off the small ship and free of all of the minds inhabiting it. He could not wait to put his feet on solid ground again. Jim had once spoken to him about his farm back in Iowa; the place where he had been raised. Spock had not seen the appeal of such seclusion then. It had been more logical to take up residence in a city which held considerably more benefits than a rural area would have held for an individual.

But now, Spock could definitely see the appeal. What he would not give to inhabit something like Jim's farmhouse if only to isolate himself from the constant invading emotions of the other minds around him. If only to find some semblance of quietness and peace. However, given his questionable financial situation, credits would be far more difficult to come by in a rural area where employment was scarcer. Or at least, the variation of employment Spock was searching for.

However, there was a biomedical research facility located near Riverside, Iowa. Perhaps Spock could seek employment with them, and take up residence in the small town. In fact, the prospect of living in Jim's hometown brought an illogical sense of comfort over him.

As the shuttle piloted closer to the _Space Dock_, large Starships that were also currently docked for the time being caught his tired eyes. Looking at them, Spock had to repress the errant pang their overwhelming presence elicited within him. They made him think of the ship he had just left; the ship he had once called home. They made him think of a life that was forever lost to him, and the captain he would never see again.

Once they'd finally docked, Spock made sure he was the first one off the transport. He was impatient to be rid of the cramped space, and the foreign emotions that came along with it. However, in less than thirty minutes, he found himself on another one that was to take him down to Earth. It was just as cramped, but at least the trip would be far shorter than the one he had just made.

On the way down, his PADD chimed—the first chime since going out of range of the Enterprise—signaling he had received a new message. Now that he had arrived on Earth, Spock knew it could not be anyone from the Enterprise, as they would be too far out of range. His father would be too far out of range as well; not that Spock expected messages from the older Vulcan anyway. They had not spoken since Spock had decided to stay and serve on the Enterprise instead of traveling with Sarek to New Vulcan to help rebuild their civilization.

To say that his father had been disappointed would have been an understatement. Sarek had been furious in his own logical way, and as a result, Spock had decidedly muted the bond between them. His mother passing had rekindled that bond; made it somewhat strong and vibrant again as they both fought to handle their grief. But being that Spock had already been somewhat estranged from his father after turning down the VSA, he had found that such a feat had not been hard to accomplish a second time.

The bond was not entirely gone, though. Even now, Spock could feel its low hum in the back of his mind if he concentrated hard enough on it, but the Vulcan would never allow it to become more than that. When Spock had first realized that his shields were failing him on a more permanent scale back on the Enterprise, he had errantly wondered why he had still been able to shield himself from the bond with his father. But eventually, Spock had just taken on the assumption that perhaps Sarek was shielding himself from Spock just as much as Spock was.

It would not have been surprising.

Knowing that it was not Sarek, and that it was also not anyone from the Enterprise, Spock decided that logically, there would only be one other person who would be interested in Spock's sudden change in career.

Well, perhaps two people.

Deciding to answer it, Spock maneuvered his arm around the older, much larger human next to him until he could successfully bring out his PADD. He turned the screen on and peered down at the name in the messenger feature.

_**-Admiral Marcus-**_

Spock sighed lowly and opened the message. Admiral Marcus was the last individual he wished to speak with. In fact, if he could, Spock would never speak with him again. It was…_difficult_ knowing there was another out there aside from the select few Altririans that knew what Spock had done. It made him nervous.

**Mr. Spock, I've just received word from Captain Kirk about your desertion from the fleet—**

_Desertion?_ Spock thought in bemusement and continued reading.

**As soon as your shuttle lands, I expect you at Headquarters, and in my office. We have**_**things**_**to discuss**_**.**_

Spock spent a long moment deciding how he should reply. He had a very good idea of what _things_ the Admiral would wish to discuss, and they were not things Spock wanted to talk about. With anyone.

**Admiral Marcus, as I am no longer an active member of Starfleet, I do not understand why my attendance is required. It is not convenient for me to meet with you today. **

There. Spock sent the message and watched the screen for the reply he knew would enter his inbox shortly, and just as he had assumed, it showed up thirty seconds later, which was actually faster than the Vulcan had anticipated. He found the hasty response interesting. The Admiral seemed to be heavily concerned about Spock's drastic shift in career choice. Enough so as to make it his first priority to talk with Spock before the Vulcan had a chance to do anything else. Vaguely, Spock wondered if the Admiral had even gone so far as to place Starfleet officers on _Space Dock_ to watch for his arrival; and when he arrived, to report directly to the Admiral via communicator.

**I don't care if you've struck up an alliance with the Klingons and have decided to leave the Federation altogether. You **_**will**_** meet me in my office, ASAP. Or I will come find you. **

Spock sighed loudly this time, and the human next to him peered at him in shock. He had likely never heard a Vulcan sigh before, and the action had taken him aback. Spock did not allow this to bother him. There were a lot of things he had done that Vulcans had likely never done before, and _sighing_ was the least severe of all of them.

((oOo))

Since Spock was no longer a Commander in the Fleet, he would not be able to stay in a hotel room provided for by Starfleet. Nor would he be permitted to stay at Headquarters, or in a vacant space at the Academy dorms. Given that Admiral Marcus wished to speak with him immediately, Spock was not able to acquire lodging before going to meet with said admiral, so he was forced to take his luggage along with him. He strongly detested this, because the walk from the shuttle bay to the Headquarters was not a short one, but again Spock had been reluctant in hailing a taxi until he knew more about his financial situation, or just how much a _hotel room_ would cost him in California. He had never had to pay for a hotel room before; every room he had ever stayed in had belonged to Starfleet, or had been paid for by Starfleet, so he had no idea what the rate of a room would be to a mere civilian.

Upon entering the large lobby of Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco, several officers took a moment to gape at him in surprise. They knew enough about the Enterprise to know that the ship was still out there in the Alpha Quadrant on a two-year mission. And, they also knew who he was by way of media, or because they had once been his students at the Academy.

The pointed ears and slanted eyebrows did not hide much about his identity either, even if he _was_ outfitted in civilian clothing.

Their reaction to seeing him was not unexpected to Spock. His attendance there in the main lobby of Headquarters would be cause for confusion when the ship he was known to be assigned to was far away from there…and he was most obviously not with it.

Their reaction did not matter though. Spock was no longer an active member. Therefore, their theories and speculations as to why he had come back to Earth a year early did not matter, and would not matter again.

That is what Spock told himself as he set his eyes on the large desk on the far side of the lobby. He gripped his large suitcases, hefted them off the floor where he had set them down momentarily, and made his way over.

The receptionist was a young human male ensign. Spock assumed he had not been too long out of the Academy judging by how youthful his skin and face appeared. However, _age_, Spock had come to find out, had no bearing on rank. Jim could not be much older than the ensign sitting here in front of him, currently eyeing him over in bemusement.

And Jim was the Captain of the Flagship.

Inwardly Spock cursed himself as his thoughts yet again managed to find their way back to Jim. Everything seemed to find its way back to Jim. It hurt to think about him—the man who had likely forgotten all about him by that point. The man half way across the galaxy exploring the stars that Spock had wanted oh so much to explore. Yet, despite that pain, Spock still could not cast the man away from his thoughts. He was always there, lingering in the back of his mind…

"I am here at the request of Admiral Marcus," Spock started a bit harshly in his attempt to get his mind off of Jim. "If you would direct me to his location, it would be most appreciated." Spock finished much more gently, his voice becoming impassive and disinterested. Vulcan.

Inside though, he could not be more impatient. The sooner Spock could see the admiral, the sooner he could get it over with and be on his way.

_To where?_ Spock thought errantly just as the human answered him, a radiant smile on his face.

"Ah yes, Commander Spock, I take it?"

Spock frowned and glanced at the wall.

"_Mr. Spock_, Ensign. The title of _Commander _is no longer appropriate as I am no longer affiliated with Starfleet," Spock corrected him without meeting his eyes. He should not be embarrassed, but for some reason, he was.

The ensign blushed. "My apologies_ Com_—I mean, _Mr. Spock_. He is in his office on level thirteen. He's expecting you, sir."

"Thank you," Spock replied with a tilt of his head before bending down to pick his bags back up and move toward the turbo-lift.

The ensign's voice halted him. "Uh, Sir? You can leave those here at the front desk if you want? Surely you don't want to lug them all the way up to Admiral Marcus' office, and then back down again. I'll keep an eye on them," the man offered, prompting the Vulcan to turn around and regard that same smile again.

Spock considered the offer. While two bags was not heavy at all for a Vulcan, it would be nice to take a reprise from carrying them, if only to add more concentration to keeping his migraine at bay.

"Thank you, Ensign. I find that agreeable."

((oOo))

When Spock announced himself at the Admiral's door, a gruff voice replied, inviting him inside.

"Mr. Spock," Marcus, who had been standing just by his window, announced shortly as Spock came to stand in front of his desk, hands clasped behind his back.

"Admiral Marcus," Spock replied evenly with a tilt of his head. He made no move to sit down, and fortunately the admiral made no move to invite him to do so. Standing indicated a short meeting. Sitting, indicated a much longer one in his opinion.

"Let's skip past all the _'pleasantries'_ bullshit," Marcus stated belligerently, turned from the window, and sat ungracefully down in his chair, his gaze hard and cold.

Spock remained silent, though the human's anger was the most palpable thing in the room at the moment, and it held nothing back as it pounded against his defenseless mind.

"Three days ago I got word from the Enterprise, from Kirk, from the ship you're supposed to _be on_ right now, that his First Officer—_you_—handed in your resignation," Marcus deadpanned loudly, his eyes leveled. "I didn't want to believe it, son. In fact, I _didn't_ believe it until I got word from one of my officers that you were on a transport headed down to Earth from _Space Dock._"

So the admiral _had_ sent personnel up to _Space Dock_ to watch for him. Spock found that irritating.

"It is true, Admiral Marcus. I did resign my commission seven days ago. The report you have received is correct," Spock replied flatly, his migraine only reaffirming the dislike he had for this man.

Marcus fixed him with a glare, and Spock winced as the particular sharp burst of anger batted against him. "Don't give me attitude, son."

Spock permitted his eyebrow to raise. _Attitude?_

"I'm not accepting your resignation. You're going to take the first shuttle out of here and haul your ass back to the Enterprise."

The way it was stated left no room for argument, but Spock found himself doing just that. "Negative, Admiral. As I have already informed Captain Kirk, my decision has been made, and I will not reconsider."

Marcus slammed his fists down on the desk, which sent yet another pang through Spock's head. The Vulcan briefly permitted his eyes to shut in response to the sharp burst of pain. "You _will _reconsider, Commander!"

For a moment, Spock found it difficult to respond. The sheer menace and authority in the tone was extremely reminiscent to S'teth, which made it difficult to remain devoid of fear and continue negating Marcus' wishes.

"I will not," Spock finally managed, his voice becoming soft. A part of him wished to scream the words out, but he just could not find the courage to do it. His courage, it seemed, was long gone. However, Spock _needed _to convey just how final his decision was, and that trying to convince him further was futile. He had already been through this with Jim, and he did not relish going through it again with the man in front of him. "You cannot force me to remain in Starfleet. It is illegal to do so," he ending up adding, this time with a bit more force.

Marcus snorted and gave him a long, explorative look. Spock felt his insides crawl at such a look, and fought the urge to cover himself with his hands which were fisted behind his back. He did not wish to be evaluated; especially by Marcus who might ask of Spock what the priest had asked of him.

Instantly Spock felt shame at such a thought; at his constant habit of comparing everyone to S'teth.

"Well, I wouldn't want to force you to do anything _illegal_, Commander."

Spock stiffened, his prior shame forgotten, and pursed his lips. Marcus was definitely not above such endeavors of convincing him to forego ethics and morality, hence the reason the Vulcan was standing here in his office in the first place.

"I am…relieved that you agree, Admiral. Now, if I may be dismissed…" Spock responded politely, and wanted nothing more than to leave the office. The man in front of him had become more and more threatening as the discussion wore on.

"I can't force you, Mr. Spock. I would never force you to do anything. You know that. But I implore you to change your mind. The Fleet needs you right now. If you quit, and in the middle of a mission no doubt, do you know how that looks? Do you know how that makes this Fleet look?" Marcus sputtered in exasperation, his anger starting to build back up again.

Spock blinked at him, but did not answer.

"It'll bring suspicion, Mr. Spock. People are going to question why the best First Officer in the Fleet abandoned his post in the middle of a mission."

"My reasoning's are not their business, Admiral Marcus."

"It doesn't matter if it's not their business!" Marcus snapped irately and came to stand swiftly. Spock took an instinctive step backward, his instinct to run through the door becoming more and more powerful by the second. "People are still going to wonder, and wondering leads to speculation. If what happened on Altriri IV comes to light…"

Spock had to stop him there. "I can assure you, Admiral, no one will find out about the events that transpired between me and the High Pri—,"

"I thought I told you never to say that name to me!" Marcus cut him off dangerously, and Spock narrowed his eyes. That name was all Spock could think about aside from Jim since he had first heard it. That name had haunted him in his dreams, had assaulted his mind and his body countless times since. That _name_ had ruined his life. How dare this man act like it was just an annoyance to be swept under the rug.

Spock's growing negative emotions must have been showing on his face, because a moment later, the admiral gave him a thoughtful expression.

"That's why you've resigned, isn't it. I knew that's why you resigned…" Marcus continued knowingly, and with disappointment laced in his voice.

Spock stiffened. "Admiral, with all due respect, the reasons for my resignation are…personal."

Marcus laughed bitterly. "Personal?" he managed in disgust before looking thoughtful again. "You're a Vulcan. I thought you people were above personal matters. Fucking is only personal when you make it personal, Spock."

"Admiral…" Spock started tiredly, and resisted the urge to cradle his forehead in his hands. He was beyond exhausted, and his head was screaming in pain as both his and Marcus' negative emotions bombarded his mind.

"If I'd known how much of a bitch you were going to be about this entire thing, I would have made Kirk stay in your stead. He probably would have been a lot better at it anyway. God only knows what sex is like with a Vulcan. You don't show emotion, and I honestly don't know what that…well, what anyone would see in you," Marcus commented casually, his voice trailing off. But Spock could sense his genuine bemusement.

However, the insult directed at him paled in comparison to the insult directed at Jim, and instantly the Vulcan's head snapped up, the tiredness gone from his expression. "You may say what you like about my person, but Captain Kirk would not have done such a thing, Admiral Marcus. And I would ask you not to speak about him in such a way. It is inappropriate as his superior officer. Now, given that we have nothing further to discuss, I will be leaving," Spock hissed and attempted to turn and retreat from the room.

"Such proud words for James Kirk," Marcus started in a half laugh before he leaned forward in his chair. "You do realize, _Spock_," he went on, his voice becoming dangerously sarcastic. "That if you walk away now, you will be dishonorably discharged from the Fleet. So on top of not getting any severance, you're going to have a real hard time finding work on any ship or research facility. A dishonorable discharge doesn't look good at all on paper, son. Even if you _are_ a Vulcan. In fact, being that you are Vulcan, that probably makes it even worse. What sort of Vulcan gets themselves dishonorably discharged? People will think there's something wrong with you…"

Spock's eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, and his heart started beating a little faster in his side. "Admiral?" he probed bemusedly, but a sliver of dread had welded itself inside him. He knew what a dishonorable discharge from Starfleet would mean in the pursuit of future employment. Employment on a ship or in any kind of research facility required commitment; the kind of commitment one gave to Starfleet when enlisting. A dishonorable discharge would make his prospective employers assume that he would be unable to provide such a commitment. That he was…unreliable. Being that he was Vulcan would make it even worse, as the admiral had already said.

And, would they be in error to assume such a thing? Would they be in error to think that something was indeed wrong with him?

Spock decided that they would not.

"For someone so quick to quote _regs_, I'm surprised that little regulation slipped your Vulcan mind," Marcus furthered in amusement and sat himself carelessly back in his chair. "You left the Enterprise in the middle of the two-year mission, and on top of that, you didn't give Kirk the mandatory six month notice before handing in that shit you called a resignation," he ended bitterly.

Spock glanced at his feet on the floor. Of course he knew that regulation. He knew every regulation. But, there were certain qualifications that had to be met in order for a _dishonorable discharge_ to be applicable, and Spock wasn't sure he was ready to face them.

"Admiral, in order for a dishonorable discharge to be applicable in the case of disembarking from a Starship mid-mission, the Captain himself must request it," Spock said quietly, his gaze still on the floor. Again, he wasn't sure he was ready to hear the truth; that last conversation between Jim and himself still so fresh in his mind.

_"Do you know why? Because I don't __**care**__ enough about you anymore to stop you." _

Spock could practically feel the smile on the admiral's face. "That's correct, Mr. Spock, and he did request it."

Cold. That's how Spock felt, and it was worse than it had been back in Jim's quarters.

"…Captain Kirk is…certainly within his right to request such a thing, although I had not anticipated it," Spock admitted as the shock started to make its way through his system. Why would Jim request such a thing? The rendezvous with the _USS Reliant_ had not been a difficult nor dangerous mission, and Mr. Sulu had proved himself more than capable of carrying out First Officer duties while Spock had been on Altriri IV. Had he really been inconveniencing Jim that much with his resignation? Enough for the man he had once called a friend to request that he be dishonorably discharged? Knowing full well what such a thing would entail?

Suddenly, the earlier prospect of finding a place to live in Riverside, Iowa seemed far and away. No research facility would employ him with that stain on his record. And did he even wish to live in that town anymore, anyway?

"Now, surely that doesn't hurt your feelings?" Marcus probed, slightly amused.

Spock finally looked up and glared at him sharply. He had just opened his mouth to assure the Admiral that he had no feelings to hurt, but the man had continued. "Of course, I don't blame you, son. After what you did on that planet for him? That boy should be kissing your ass, and instead…well, it just goes to show you that…"

"I did not inform the Captain of what had transpired on Altriri IV," Spock said sharply, cutting him off. He saw no reason to continue this conversation. He would not be persuaded to change his mind, and rejoin the Fleet, and he honestly was not sure how much longer he could remain in this office; his control intact.

Marcus, who had once looked amused, suddenly became serious. "Well I'd hope not, given our last conversation on the matter, which brings me to my next order of business." He straightened his uniform, and sat up straighter in his chair, his face utterly professional.

"You may not be a Commander anymore, and quite frankly, I don't give a shit what you do after this, but I trust that what happened on that planet…" he paused and coughed into his fist. "It had better stay between us."

"And the High Priest, Admiral," Spock said flatly, his anger just below the surface as his head pains grew steadily worse.

Marcus grimaced. "I'll let that slide, Mr. Spock, but I told you not to mention that name to me, and I meant it. Your little fuckathon on that planet never happened. Surely you wouldn't want to be the one responsible for Altriri IV pulling out of the Federation, or being forced out because of what you did. Not to mention what people would think."

"It will not be mentioned again, Admiral Marcus," Spock hastily spoke, wishing the man would just let the subject drop. He was not lying. The name would never be mentioned again; at least, not out loud. Spock would still hear that name every night in his dreams regardless.

"Good. Then we're done here. See the receptionist on your way out. You owe Starfleet quite a bit of credits," the admiral said with finality, averted his gaze, and busied his hands on the desk; a clear sign of dismissal.

Spock tilted his head, and winced at the throb it produced. "Admiral," he bid, and turned to leave. Illogically wishing to be anywhere else on Earth but this room.

"Spock," Marcus spoke again once Spock had made it to the door.

Spock halted.

"I'm giving you one last chance to reconsider."

"…"

"But if you walk out that door, that's it. There is no coming back."

"No…" Spock said quietly. "I suspect there is not."

There had been no coming back the minute that S'teth had first touched him.

((oOo))

Spock had just rounded the corner that would take him back to the turbo-lift when a familiar voice stopped him. He nearly sighed at being halted yet again. Why could no one understand that he just wanted to leave? Where? He did not know, but he could not be here any longer. He did not want to look at anything with the Starfleet insignia on it. He did not want to think about Jim signing the form that would paint Spock with a dishonorable discharge.

"Mr. Spock," Admiral Pike called from behind him, prompting the Vulcan to rotate back around and tilt his head in greeting, and effective masking of the warring emotions raging within him.

"Admiral Pike," Spock eyed the man's cane, a clear sign of improvement from the wheelchair he donned a year ago. "I see that your injuries have improved."

Pike looked down at his cane and back up at him. "It's nice to be able to walk again, but this cane is a pain in my ass."

"Indeed," Spock replied placidly and dismissively. Pike frowned at him as a result. Perhaps a month and a half ago, he would have been willing to engage in more conversation with this particular human. He respected Admiral Christopher Pike, and had always appreciated the conversations they would have. Pike had counseled Spock on numerous occasions when he had been a cadet at the Academy. Back then he had shamefully felt alone, and had been unable to fit in among his peers who had been alienated by his Vulcan mannerisms. Pike had made him feel welcomed and valued in a cold new world.

Pike's advice had been invaluable, and had taught him many things about interacting with humans productively. Despite all of that though, at that moment, Spock wished nothing more than to leave Starfleet Headquarters, and everything he had come to know behind him.

"I heard the news, Spock," he deadpanned, skipping right past what humans referred to as small talk.

"You will have to clarify, Admiral," Spock replied, feigning ignorance.

Pike shook his head and limped closer. "Don't do that, Spock. I _know_you know what I meant. My question is why? Was it Jim? Did he do something?" the man probed with a hint of suspicious accusation.

Spock straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back. "Captain Kirk is an amenable Captain, Admiral Pike. The reason for my resignation does not lie with him," Spock pointed out, unable to keep the defensiveness for Jim out of his voice. His feelings toward Jim at that moment were ambiguous, but again, old habits were hard to eliminate.

"I meant no disrespect, Spock. I'm sure your reasoning is…logical."

"…"

Pike stepped even closer and placed his hand on the Vulcan's shoulder. Spock stiffened and attempted to throw up the shields that had long ago failed him, and to his dismay, continued to fail him. Spock felt Pike's regret, and disappointment for him, and it burned his aching mind.

"Spock…are you okay?" Pike asked softly, his eyes imploring and leveled with concern.

Spock stepped away from the touch. "Have I given some implication that would lead you to the conclusion that I am not?"

Pike sighed, and rubbed his forehead; a sign of exasperation. "I just…I didn't expect you to quit the Fleet, Spock."

Spock stiffened. "I do not live by others expectations, Admiral Pike. If I did, I would have accepted admission into the Vulcan Science Academy when I had lived on Vulcan, as was the wish of my father," he explained shortly.

"Of course, Spock. I'm not reprimanding you, here. I just…" he let his voice trail off; his emotions becoming confused and pained. Spock resisted the urge to take another step back. He was already confused and pained himself. He did not wish to compound that with Pike's own bemused agony.

"I just…never took you for a quitter. It's not like you," Pike finally managed, his eyes thoughtful and deep.

Spock inwardly winced. He had never taken himself for a quitter either. Then again, he had never taken himself for someone who would sell his body for a treaty. He had never taken himself for a lawbreaker. Yet, he had done those things, and they could not be taken back. What people seemed to have _taken him for_ ended up being very, very far from the truth.

"Appearances can be…deceiving, Admiral Pike," Spock said quietly.

For a moment, Admiral Pike just stared at him, a frown taking over his expression, but before he could answer, Spock turned back around and proceeded to the turbo-lift. He wondered, as it descended, just what he would do now that Starfleet was no longer a part of his life.

**A.N. The title for this chapter is from the Evanescence song, "Where Will You Go?" It's kind of from Jim's POV, despite him not being in this chapter. Can some of you start to imagine how arc 2 is going to go? I would love to hear your thoughts and predictions as always. **

**Also, there are currently two stories being published right now based on a challenge I issued last year. Both stories are freaking amazing so far, and if anyone is interested, they are on ksarchive. One is called "It's Over" by Sherlockianwisdome, and the other is called, "Love Reign O'er Me," by Ms Moxie 09. THANKS FOR READING! **


	13. Stranger In Moscow

**A.N. Sunday again, and I'll confess, I almost didn't get this chapter up today. This week has been horrible for me as far as school and work goes, but I really wanted to make good on my promise to you guys. There is something I wanted to address, (yes, another one of my rants despite my promise to someone that I wouldn't justify myself anymore in my AN's) You can read it if you wish, but it's definitely just me expressing some stuff. **

**For this chapter, I've taken a lot of influence from our own everyday lives as it pertains to financial difficulties. I think I used a car loan calculator for a section of this, haha. I want to think everyone reading and reviewing. You guys push me to update on Sundays ****. There are a couple of reviews I haven't gotten around to replying to (I've been dreadfully busy) but I promise I will get to them when I get home from work today. (I'm literally posting this as I get ready to leave haha) **

**Warnings for this chapter include some references to non-con, but that's it. Also, I'm not using beta's on this, so all mistakes are my own. Feel free to point them out! **

**I don't own Trek! **

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Stranger in Moscow**

Once back on the ground floor of Headquarters, Spock ignored the lingering stares from various officers and walked back over to the front desk where he had left his luggage. The same ensign was waiting there for him, and fortunately, his two bags were still there just behind the desk from what Spock could see. Illogically, there had been a small part of him that had expected the bags to be gone, and why? The man _had_ said he could leave them there. Lately though, Spock's trust in those around him had not been what is used to be.

"Ensign…" Spock prompted in hopes of gaining the human's name given the absence of nameplate. His migraine pounded intensely in his head due to the meeting with Admiral Marcus moments ago, and he wished to get this particular exchange over with as soon as possible.

The ensign, who had been glancing at the screen of his computer terminal, looked up at him and his expression turned into a pitying smile. In fact, Spock could _feel_ the pity radiating off of the human, and he wondered if it had anything to do with the billing information the man would soon give to him.

"Wilters, Sir. Ensign Wilters," Wilters answered a moment later.

"Ensign Wilters," Spock restated. "I thank you for holding my luggage for me while I was otherwise engage," he went on to state.

The pitying smile disappeared, and a normal one took its place. Spock was grateful for that.

"Of course, Mr. Spock," Wilters started, and coughed into his hand before continuing; a sign of nervousness. "And, if you have your PADD on you, or a credit chip, I can transfer this information that Admiral Marcus sent down a couple of minutes ago," he ended in a sympathetic tone, which only confirmed Spock's previous assumption that the human knew exactly what _information_ Marcus had provided.

"Of course. My PADD is in the outer most pocket of my bag. If you would permit me to come around and retrieve it?" he requested impassively.

"Oh yes, of course Mr. Spock!" Wilters rushed to say and motioned for the Vulcan to come back behind the desk. Spock acquiesced, walked around, and got down on his knee to go through his suitcase where his satchel was. Once he had found his PADD, he stood back up and handed it to the ensign who then took it, and touched it to a device connected to the computer terminal. Spock watched apathetically as the top of the PADD lit up in red; a signal that it was downloading. He hated how that impassiveness became nervousness when the light turned green, and the human handed his PADD back to him.

"Thank you, Ensign Wilters," Spock said just as he grabbed the device and shoved it back into his satchel. He wouldn't look at the billing information in Headquarters. He would much rather do it outside and away from all things Starfleet. Why? Spock had no logical answer. Perhaps he wished to linger in financial ignorance a little bit longer before finding out just how much he owed Starfleet, and how much more difficult his life was going to become because of it. It was such a bizarre thing to feel; for Spock had never before worried with credits, but now it seemed they held an incredible power over him. Jim had sometimes referenced his own financial hardships that he had dealt with in the past before joining Starfleet. Before, Spock had never quite understood what he had meant, but now, he felt he was beginning to.

Ensign Wilters eyed the satchel that Spock had just deposited the PADD into with a thoughtful expression before bringing his green eyes back up to him. "Don't you want to see what was downloaded?" he asked, making Spock inwardly sigh. Sometimes he loathed human curiosity.

"I am quite aware of what has been downloaded, Ensign Wilters," Spock answered curtly. He had no intentions of bringing the PADD back out, and it had absolutely _nothing _to do with the fact that he was anxious about seeing said information.

Wilters cleared his throat loudly and sat up straighter in his seat. "Well, you can make a payment at any credit terminal in the city, or you can make it here at Headquarters. If you have any questions about where to send the payments, or if there is a problem with the payment, just call the number that was downloaded with the billing statement," he explained, his voice oddly detached. Spock could feel his nervousness. It was obvious the human would rather not apprise Spock about just how to pay his termination fees. For, if the man had looked at the information Spock had just received, then he would surely know the severity of said fees. In fact, he would probably have seen the dishonorable discharge on there as well. Spock knew that in such cases, a dishonorable discharge would actually increase the monthly payment. He had no idea by just how much, but nevertheless, there _would_ be an increase.

The Vulcan wasn't sure what was worse at the moment; having people know he had been dishonorable discharged? Or the accelerated rate that would be on his billing statement, and whether or not he would be able to afford it.

"Thank you, Ensign Wilters. Live long and prosper," Spock answered stoically; habitually, reached down to pick up his bags, and headed toward the exit. Oddly, his bags felt heavier than before.

Once outside, Spock took a moment to breathe in the hot air of California before walking down the steps and away from Starfleet Headquarters. He waited until he had traveled a good distance out into the streets of San Francisco before he seated himself down on an isolated bench and pulled out his PADD. Once he activated it, he went to his inbox. Sure enough, a billing statement entitled: **Starfleet Financial Department and Collection Services**__was there at the top. It was flagged as _high priority_. Reluctantly, Spock tapped the message open.

The message began by explaining the nature of the bill, and that his billing cycle would expand over a twenty-four month period. So, two years. Spock would have two years to pay off his termination fee. There were a few more words explaining the various ways to make a payment which Spock skipped past until his eyes landed on the amount owed, and the date he would have to make the minimum payments by. At the moment, that was all he was concerned about.

Next to the box that read: **Outstanding Balance,** there was as an amount of thirty thousand credits. That was how much his termination fee was going to be overall, and according to the multiplier next to the amount which contained the initials, **'DD'**—which stood for dishonorable discharge, Spock assumed—that amount had been doubled from what had originally been just fifteen thousand credits. Apparently, being dishonorably discharged made the termination fee twice as high.

That was quite unfortunate.

After permitting himself to sigh, Spock let his eyes wander further down the message, even though he had the biggest and most illogical urge not to. Next to '**Minimum Monthly Amount Due,' **was an amount of no less than thirteen hundred credits to be paid no later than the beginning of next month, which was in fourteen days time.

Briefly, Spock permitted his eyes to widen. Such a payment, he suspected, was about as much as the monthly payment on a terran mortgage, and if he planned on making his payments on time, and thereby avoiding a late fee of no less than one hundred credits according to the message, then Spock knew he would have to secure employment as soon as possible.

For the first time ever, Spock could not help but feel a surge of resentment toward Jim; resentment at requesting that he be dishonorably discharged. For if he had not been, the minimum monthly payment he was looking at would have been significantly lower. However, as soon as said resentment flooded through Spock's mind like a poison, he shook his aching head to rid himself of the shameful feeling. Jim had not put him in this position. Spock had done this to himself. Jim had had every right to request such thing, and it was wrong that Spock resented him because of it. He could not blame others for the mess he had made of his life. He was supposed to have given a six month notice.

He had given none.

Quickly Spock exited out of the message, saved it, and opened up his credit account to surmise just how much he had at his disposal. He had been avoiding looking at it for as long as possible, but knew he could no longer avoid it.

His heart sank when he read the lowly amount of two thousand credits to his name, which really meant he only had about seven hundred credits, because the rest of that would go toward his first payment to Starfleet in fourteen days. It was then that Spock realized that had his donation to the New Vulcan Relief Fund three months ago not been so large, he would have had considerably more credits at his disposal; about ten thousand more credits to be exact. It would have been more than enough to put a payment down on an apartment, and perhaps even double up on his payments toward Starfleet. He also would have been able to purchase everything he needed to start making his living down on Earth. Frugality would not have been a necessity.

It would have been enough to _get him on his feet_, as a human would say.

But with only seven hundred credits to work with, Spock would not be able to do any of those things. Such an amount would only get him so far, and due to the fact that he was unsure about his future employment, he was hesitant to spend any of it at all.

Not able to stand looking at the depiction of his life on the screen of a PADD anymore, Spock shut the device off, placed it back in his bag, and went off in search of the cheapest hotel he could find. Once there, he would be able to look for job opportunities in the quietness of a room, and away from the loudness and crowds of the city. He could only hope, as he walked along the sidewalk, careful to avoid touching any of the passing pedestrians; that the dishonorable discharge on his record would not keep him from finding respectable and decent paying employment.

Though, if Spock had learned anything in the past two months, it was that _hope_ was rarely worth investing in.

**((oOo))**

**Two and a half weeks later:**

Spock had ended up renting a hotel room just on the outskirts of San Francisco. It was nothing like his quarters that had been back at the Academy, or on the Enterprise, but he had found it acceptable considering the situation.

Of course, it would have been more logical to have chosen a hotel deeper into the city; especially since that was where he was currently focusing on searching for employment. Even the research facilities stationed outside of the city had a home building in San Francisco. But the loudness at night, as well as the large population of unshielded minds constantly bombarding his own had made residing in the city a painful and tedious prospect. Much like his endeavor to find employment had been over the past two weeks. Now as he was going into the third week, those issues hadn't gotten any better.

Apparently, the fact that Spock had been dishonorably discharged from the Fleet hadn't been the only negative aspect to his candidacy as a future employee. The medical issues that affected him on the Enterprise had proven to be just as detrimental in that endeavor.

Twice in the first week, and on two different interviews; one a computer programming company, and the other a biomedical research lab; Spock suffered a nosebleed and had been forced to excuse himself. He had been able to feel the interviewer's alarm and then wariness as he had exited the room, but there had been nothing for it. He couldn't very well just continue to sit there while his nose bled all over the floor. A small part of him had hoped they would understand that.

Unfortunately though, when the bleeding had finally stopped, Spock had returned to the interview room on both occasions only to be informed by a different person, usually the receptionist, that _'they would contact him'._

However, they never did.

At the end of the second week of his job search, Spock had suffered yet another nosebleed; much to the horror of the woman who had been conducting the interview. Upon his return, she; instead of a receptionist, had relayed the same words to him that he had already come to expect; that they would contact him if anything became available. However, instead of dismissing him as Spock had come to expect, she had added, "Why don't you go back to New Vulcan? Surely they could make use of your skills and qualifications more so than we can here," she had finished with hint of curiosity mixed with dismissal.

Spock had been around humans long enough to know when he was kindly being turned down…again. And he hadn't been able to help the bitter tone he exhibited in his reply to her query. His first payment had been made just the previous day, which had meant he was thirteen hundred credits shorter, and yet, he had still not secured a job.

"I have taken that into consideration," Spock had lied, ignoring the minute flinch that had overcome the woman at his brusque tone. He had no intention of traveling to New Vulcan, and it had irritated him that individuals he barely knew would attempt to make such personal suggestions for him to follow. He barely tolerated it from his father. He would not tolerate it from a stranger.

However, that had not stopped two particular Vulcans _on_ New Vulcan from making such a suggestion over the course of that next week.

In the beginning of the third week, Spock had suffered three sub-space calls from his father informing him that, _'it was only logical to travel to the colony and participate in the rebuilding of their civilization now that you are not affiliated with Starfleet'_. On every call, Sarek had produced a different argument as to why Spock should go, and every time Spock had refused. On the fourth call, Spock had kindly, but not so kindly, asked Sarek to cease the attempt; that as a genetically engineered hybrid, he was incapable or reproducing, and therefore had nothing to offer the colony.

Despite his argument, Sarek had continued to argue with him though, and it had been then that Spock decided to lie. "I have signed on with a vessel embarking on a science expedition that will be exploring the Gamma Quadrant, father. To further attempt to convince me to return to New Vulcan is illogical, as I will not be changing my decision," Spock had stated, startling himself. Before Altriri IV, Spock would have found it extremely difficult to produce such lies. Now though, now it had become shamefully easy to do so. It had only been further affirmation of how far he had fallen.

After that fourth call, his father had not attempted to contact him again. His counterpart however, had been much more insistent. But instead of attempting to convince him to go to New Vulcan, Selek—as his counterpart had taken to calling himself—had steadily tried to convince him to return to the Enterprise.

"Your destiny is on that ship, Spock. Not on Earth," the older Vulcan had told him firmly on the third call.

"My _destiny_ is my own, Ambassador Selek. You and I are not the same people. Different circumstances and environmental conditions have caused our paths to differ. I will not return to the Enterprise, and you would do well to cease your attempt at convincing me."

"Jim needs you, Spock. You both need each other," Selek had continued in the most emotional voice Spock had ever heard from him, and it shamed him that even in a universe where everything had gone right, where his mother had lived to see old age, Spock had still succumbed to emotional impulses.

"_Kirk_ has made it quite clear that my presence is unneeded, and I agree. I understand that you and your universe's James Kirk shared a _camaraderie_ of sorts, but this is not your Universe, and it never will be. You have changed the paths we would have taken merely by your presence in this timeline. The Captain and I do not function adequately as a team. We leave much to be desired…" Spock had listed off bitterly. He knew how emotional he must have sounded as well, but he had been past caring.

"Spock…"

"You _will_ cease in your attempt to convince me of a relationship that does not, and will never exist." Spock had then glared at his counterpart on the viewscreen, who had been openly frowning. "Do not contact me again," and with that, he had cut the connection. So far, they had not tried to communicate with him again.

Oddly enough, the dishonorable discharge had never become a topic for conversation with neither his father, nor his counterpart. As a result, Spock had wondered if such a thing had even been viewable on his record without a formal request for a background check like his interviewers legally had done. Spock hoped that had been the case, because he found the prospect of explaining such a thing to his father quite daunting. He cared not what Selek might have thought though.

That last call from Selek had been just two days ago, which had made a grand total of two weeks and five days since that meeting in Admiral Marcus' office at Headquarters, and three weeks and five days since he had left the Enterprise, and his life, behind him.

Almost a month.

Despite Spock's assumption that the migraines would lessen as time went on, they still remained as strong and as painful as ever, and he felt stupid for even thinking such a thing. Nothing had ever gotten better on the Enterprise, so he wondered why he had expected anything different on Earth. In fact, everything seemed to just be getting worse. His nosebleeds had increased by fifteen percent, and unfortunately, his nightmares began to increase in intensity with every passing night in the old, stale hotel room on the outskirts of the city.

They had become longer, and much more painful to endure. Every single one of them had included S'teth. But what had made them worse had been the new addition in his dreams. For sometimes, Jim would now be there, standing off on the side of the room just watching S'teth move against him; his eyes cold and calculating.

Those nightmares had been the worst to Spock. He never wanted to imagine Jim in the same room as he and S'teth, not while the alien was on top of him. He never wanted to imagine Jim just standing there, watching it happen, perhaps debating if he wanted to join.

Yet, what he wanted just hadn't mattered anymore.

Such a nightmare had been the sole reason why Spock was currently braced over the sink in the small bathroom in his hotel room, his hands trembling as they gripped the cold metal while violent emotions tore through him. They were his own emotions mixed in with those of the S'teth from his dreams.

_Breathe, Spock. Take deep breaths,_ the Vulcan told himself in the midst of his labored breathing; the images from the nightmare parading speedily through his mind making the process all the more difficult.

_It was only a nightmare, Spock. It was not real, you must control. You must separate reality from the imaginary. _

But it had felt so real. S'teth's large hands as they pinned his wrists above his head had felt undeniably real. S'teth's organ as it plunged rapidly into him had felt so utterly real. It seemed that despite the growing expanse of time since Spock had stayed on that planet, he just could not escape it. It seemed he would relive those deeds every night. S'teth would always be there. Always. Whether it be a mere foot away, or a galaxy away.

Cupping his hands underneath the water streaming from the faucet, Spock brought them up and splashed the cold liquid onto his face. It was an act he never would have done two months ago; but now, it only served to soothe the burning ache in his head.

For a moment, as the cold shower had done so many days ago, it lessened the pain, and made him feel a fraction of what he used to. But the moment, as always, was far too brief and seconds later as the remnants of the water dripped off of his face, reality surrounded him once again.

With a lengthy, unnecessary sigh, Spock toweled his face dry and walked back into the dark bedroom. His meditation mat sat in the corner, but it had not been used since booking the room. Meditation had proved useless on the Enterprise, and if Spock were being honest with himself, he was afraid of making the attempt again. What if it still proved useless? It was shameful, but Spock could not bear the knowledge of knowing that meditation was permanently lost to him. Therefore, he settled for telling himself that tomorrow, tomorrow he would meditate, but not today.

He had been telling himself that though since coming back to Earth.

Walking right past the unused mat, Spock sat his thin frame down on the bed and scooted all the way back until his back was touching the headboard on the wall. He glanced at the chronometer on the nightstand; it was only 0220 hours; much too early to venture out into the city again in search of prospective employment. Despite that fact though, Spock could not go back to sleep as tired as he was. He did not wish to find himself back in the same nightmare that continued every night.

For one night, Spock wanted to be alone in his bed without the priest there beside him, haunting him, raping him…

_No Spock, _the Vulcan shook his head fervently as soon as the word trailed across his brain. _S'teth did not rape you. You requested it, remember? You consented…_

Spock whimpered as his head protested in pain again, and before long he felt a trickle of warm liquid seeping down over his lip. This time, he did not even bother in going back into the bathroom to clean up his nosebleed. Instead, he positioned his body off of the headboard, and lay his body all the way down on the bed until he was staring at the ceiling; his arms lying uselessly beside him as the blood continued to trail down his face, and onto the sheets.

He errantly wondered what Dr. McCoy would think about his current, physical state. Especially given that he'd managed to lose the weight he'd gained back on the Enterprise yet again.

**((oOo))**

"So, he's still looking for work here in San Francisco, then?" Marcus probed the man seated in front of him in his office; the man he'd ordered to keep tabs on who had become one of Marcus' biggest problems as of late; that goddamn Vulcan.

The man, a Lieutenant Braisley with a questionable past, leaned forward in his chair. "Well, _looking_ is the key word here, Admiral. He's not been successful. From what I've gathered, these employers are all for hiring a Vulcan until they put in the request to see his record. Those little things you added in really seem to scare them off," he stated with a slight smirk.

Marcus smiled. There was a reason he'd chosen this particular guy to do his _behind the scenes_ work. He was sort of a lesser ranking version of himself ten years ago. Braisley would get a job done no matter the means, just like Marcus. If Starfleet had had more of these types of people, the Klingons would have already been taken down a long time ago.

Marcus was also smiling because his plan—which he'd put together at the last second—seemed to be unfolding in just the way he'd wanted it to. In addition to putting a dishonorable discharge on Spock's record under the guise of Captain Kirk, Marcus had also put a lot of effort into looking up as much dirt on the former Commander as possible just to add to the pile. There hadn't been much, if anything, which had been much to the Admiral's disappointment. Spock's record, it seemed, had unfortunately been one of the cleanest records he'd ever seen. Perfect, mother fucking Vulcans.

However, when Marcus had delved deeper into things that had been dismissed off of the Vulcan's record in the past, he stumbled across a charge that had been dropped by Kirk himself with Admiral Pike's approval. Apparently, Spock the Vulcan had physically assaulted the Kirk kid about a year ago during the _Narada _fiasco, and while the charges had been dropped, legally, there had still been a history of it.

But that was all Marcus had needed.

Being the Head of Starfleet, and also having certain key members in certain departments in his back pocket, Marcus had the power to bring those charges back up and make it look as if they'd never been dropped in the first place. If a dishonorable discharge didn't turn people off from hiring the Vulcan, then a physical assault charge certainly would.

Of course, that meant he'd had to get creative with Spock's record, lest someone like that snooping Admiral Pike, or Kirk himself get a hold of it. Both of those men would know about the physical assault charge being dropped, and while Pike might believe the dishonorable discharge order at first anyway, Kirk certainly wouldn't, since he'd never ordered it in the first place. So, Marcus had fashioned two separate records for the Vulcan by way of his connection with the people in the records department.

One of the records, if Kirk or Pike cared to pull it up, would just show Spock's resignation, and eventually, his current occupation and whereabouts. (Or, the current occupation and whereabouts that Marcus had chosen for the Vulcan.) It mattered not whether those facts were actually _factual. _

The other, which had been the one that employers would have to look at when requesting the Vulcan's record for hiring purposes, would have all the _special_ additions on it like the black marks. Essentially, all the things that made the Vulcan undesirable to an upstanding company.

Was such a thing illegal? Of course it was, and Marcus knew he would see the inside of a cell if such a thing ever came to light. But again, he wasn't above doing illegal things if it was for the good of the Federation. Getting Altriri IV into the Federation had been essential. The means that had made it happen paled in comparison to the consequences of not having the Altririans as members. The extra income and power from that planet would be a pivotal asset when all hell broke loose with the Klingons given its location, as well as its Dilithium deposits. Marcus hadn't regretted his actions regarding that planet for even a second, and if he had to, he would do it all over again.

Despite ongoing peace talks with the Klingons by all of the Federation's pacifists and bleeding fucking hearts, Marcus _knew _war was on the horizon, and he wasn't about to let them hand over the reins to Komack, who couldn't even fight his way out of a ion storm if the need arose. He had to make sure that when the war finally came, it was Marcus at the top, and not Komack.

Plus, it was only a crime in his eyes if he got caught. To be honest, Marcus had felt a little bad about duplicating Spock's record in such a way, but he knew that if anyone ever found out about Altriri IV, he'd be finished; thrown out; done, and all because of that fucking Vulcan.

Plus, that Vulcan had only himself to blame as far as Marcus was concerned. If he'd just stayed in the Fleet and kept his silence, none of this would be happening. Marcus wouldn't be busting his ass to cover his tracks, or keep things from coming to light. He wouldn't be committing more illegal acts. The fact that Spock had quit, and especially in such a way, had made hiding his particular stunt down on that fucking planet all the more difficult, and all the more illegal. In a perfect world, Marcus would just have Spock killed in some freak accident. Stuff like that had been done before, and at least that way, the secret would go with him to the grave.

But this wasn't a perfect world. This was the real world, and Marcus had to work with what he'd been dealt. He couldn't kill the Vulcan, not without raising the suspicion of the halfbreed's own people. Namely the Ambassador. But he also couldn't force Spock to stay in the Fleet.

There was no doubt that the Vulcan had put him in a bind by quitting like he'd done, and Marcus planned on making the former First Officer of the Enterprise's life a living hell for putting him in this situation when his time could be better spent on something else; something productive, like the fucking war.

As a result, as soon as Spock had walked out of his office two and a half weeks ago, Marcus had set to work on pushing that Vulcan as far away from Starfleet as possible. If he couldn't kill him, he would do the next best thing; he would alienate him from the world he'd known. The first step in doing that had been duplicating the records, thereby leaving _false _trails for anyone connected to the Vulcan while at the same time, discouraging research facilities or science teams from taking Spock on. Marcus didn't want any company relatively important to the Federation hiring that Vulcan.

Unfortunately though, every occupation that the Vulcan was likely to go after would all be important—and therefore a risk.

So far, the first step was an ongoing success. The Vulcan hadn't been able to get hired anywhere thanks to his handiwork.

The second step, which was proving to be the more difficult of the two, was why Lt. Braisley was currently sitting across from him in his office bringing him up to date. The second step was to get that Vulcan out of California and away from Headquarters. He needed that Vulcan away from anyone that would recognize him in Starfleet. Or, at least he needed him gone until his popularity with the crew of the Enterprise died down. Since Spock wasn't in Starfleet anymore, Marcus couldn't very well order him off of the planet. But one didn't have to be _off planet_ to disappear.

"I picked up some information that might be useful to you earlier this week," Braisley started in a satisfied voice. Marcus leveled his gaze at him, prompting him to continue. "As you know, I've been monitoring the former Commander's subspace calls, and his father, the Ambassador, has been very persistent in getting him to go to New Vulcan."

Marcus sat up in his chair, his expression sharp and almost eager. "Is he now," he commented casually, though inside he was swimming with anticipation. If Spock went to New Vulcan, things would get a lot easier for Marcus. He knew Spock would never tell the Vulcans what he'd done on Altriri IV. He had been able to tell that by the way the Vulcan had blushed when Marcus had first mentioned such a thing coming to pass. It seemed Spock's own insecurities regarding what had transpired on that planet were going to do his job for him. He knew that when it came to the Vulcans, Spock would take his little fuckathon to the grave. New Vulcan, in Marcus' mind, was the best place for Spock to keep their dirty little secret.

Braisley took notice of the Admiral's eager look and raised an eyebrow. "Don't get too excited, Admiral. He's made it quite clear, _several _times, that he's not going. In fact, on this latest call, the former Commander informed Ambassador Sarek that he had already signed on with a science expedition that was due to be traveling to the Gamma Quadrant," Braisley apprised him.

Marcus furrowed his brow in confusion. This was the first time he had heard about this new development, which pissed him off. "I thought you were keeping tabs on the Vulcan? How did he sign on with a science expedition without you knowing about it? What do I pay you for?" the admiral spat as he came up abruptly from his desk, his anger boiling underneath his skin.

"I know everything that Vulcan has done since you put me on him, sir," Braisley started defiantly, his eyes narrowed. "He hasn't signed on with a science expedition, or any expedition for that matter. The only explanation I have is that he lied. He lied to his father about it to keep the Ambassador from pestering him to come to New Vulcan," Braisley paused and shook his head, "and from what I've gathered, this is not the first lie that Vulcan has told according to you," he finished knowingly.

Marcus fell back down into his chair and processed this new information. It seemed that over the past couple of months, Spock the Vulcan had become more than just a _whore_ of sorts. He had also become a liar. He'd always heard that Vulcans couldn't lie, but he'd be damned if Spock wasn't proving that assumption wrong a thousand ways till Sunday.

Then again, Spock was only _half _Vulcan.

For a moment, Marcus felt helpless. He'd been banking on that Vulcan going to New Vulcan so that Marcus wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. He'd been banking on the Ambassador convincing his son to leave. But given what he'd just heard, that wasn't going to happen. If Spock had went so far as to lie about his occupation to the Vulcan Ambassador, then obviously, his mind had been made up on where he planned on staying.

Which was obviously on Earth. Fuck.

"Now…from what I've gathered, Mr. Spock's planning on interviewing at an Electronic Repair company just on the edge of San Francisco. I monitored a call today with him setting up an interview…" Braisley started in again when Marcus remained silent.

"What company?" the admiral cut in sharply, an idea already brewing in his head. He'd always prided himself on how quickly he could come up with plans when his original one's fell through.

"A…" Braisley paused and glanced down at his PADD. "A Barton and Co. Repairs, according to this." Braisley leaned forward and handed Marcus the PADD with the company information on it. "It's entry level shit, really," the man started again as the admiral's eyes drank in the information in front of him. "In fact, I'm surprised Mr. Spock's even considering it," the Lieutenant finished with an air of disbelief, as if he couldn't fathom a Vulcan going to work at a repair company; a job that a high schooler could probably do.

"He's considering it because of the shit storm of bills he owes on. It's not cheap quitting the Fleet like that, and our dear former Commander hadn't saved much before he quit. Gave most of his credits away to charities. So much for that adherence to logic," Marcus supplied tiredly as he placed the PADD down onto the desk.

Braisley scoffed. "It never pays to have a bleeding heart, does it," he commented sarcastically, making Marcus nod in agreement. Though he never would have thought a Vulcan could have a bleeding heart.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," Marcus stated loudly, causing the other man to straighten his back in attention. "We're going to use the story Spock's already provided to the Ambassador. We'll put in his record that he's on a private science vessel on an expedition. It shouldn't be too difficult to make that look official. I want it done immediately so that when Pike gets back from that Starfleet seminar I sent him too in London tomorrow, he won't go looking for that Vulcan like I know he's dying to do." _Hence why I sent Christopher there in the first place, _Marcus thought bitterly before continuing. "When is this interview scheduled to happen?" he asked.

"The beginning of next week."

Marcus sighed. He had really hoped it would be sooner than that. "Okay. I want you to get me all the information you can on this company. How many chains it has. Where they are. And namely," Marcus leaned forward, a determined look in his eyes, "the manager's contact information," he finished.

"Understood, Admiral."

"Good. You're dismissed," Marcus said with a wave of his hand. Moments later found the man leaving his office, and once the door had slid shut, the admiral smiled. Perhaps he would be able to push the Vulcan out of California after all. That being if the place Spock was going to interview for existed outside of California, and if it did, then hopefully, the manager Spock would be interviewing with could be easily manipulated. Easily bought off.

Then again, Marcus had always been a star manipulator, and there was never a price too high.

**((oOo))**

**A few days later**

**U.S.S. Enterprise**

Kirk groaned when his door chimed, reminding him that yes…there was a world outside of his room of misery.

"Jim, I know you're in there. Let me in," Bones called gruffly from the other side. Of course it would be Bones. Just the pestering son of a bitch he'd wanted to see.

Quickly, Kirk attempted to make himself halfway presentable and stood up from his desk where he'd been sitting, holding Spock's blue science tunic in his hands. Bones would definitely blow a gasket if he knew Kirk was keeping the Vulcan's clothes. He'd acquired the blue shirt the very same day that Spock had left. The memory of it was still so fresh in his mind.

When he'd realized that no, Spock wasn't coming back to the Enterprise, Kirk hadn't been able to stop himself from going into his former First Officer's quarters after Bones had left him. He felt the urge to go in there before a yeoman got to it first, and effectively wiped all traces of the Vulcan away during the cleaning process. Such a thing had been painful to think about, and had only spurred Kirk into moving faster through their—no, _his_, shared bathroom.

Whenever the door to the shared bathroom had opened, and the utter smell of _Spock _had washed over him, Kirk had nearly broken down right there. Spock was gone, but given the smell of the room as well as the numerous Starfleet clothes that filled up the drawers as well as the closet, it had been like he was still right there somewhere; still on the ship just walking around. Once Kirk had gotten over the initial shock of such powerful emotions, he'd ventured further into the room, and eventually had found himself in the closet looking for the chessboard he'd given to Spock to throw away. It had been gone, and Kirk wondered if Spock had thrown it out like he'd told him to. He probably had.

The shirt Kirk now held in his hands as Bones chimed annoyingly at the door had been one of the many things the Vulcan had left behind in that closet, and he hadn't been able to stop himself from taking it. To his utter shame, he'd gotten the shirt from the laundry storage unit and ignored what Spock would have thought if he'd known Kirk was snooping through his laundry like some kind of pervert. But, he'd wanted a shirt that still held Spock's scent the strongest. A clean shirt didn't have shit on one that had been worn already.

Now, weeks after the Vulcan had left, Kirk found that holding the smooth, blue cloth in his fingers seemed to give him a small sense of comfort, despite it missing the one key element that attracted him to it in the first place; Spock.

Hating the turn his thoughts were taking, Kirk opened one of his drawers in his desk and shoved the shirt inside next to a digital copy of Spock's resignation. He must have read that resignation a hundred times in the past month since the Vulcan had left. Why? Who the fuck knew.

Kirk had been without the Vulcan for a month before, but this time hurt so much more.

He closed the drawer with a bang before answering his friend's persistent calling. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come in, Bones. It's not like I'm doing anything important." _Except for wallowing in my own misery, and sitting here holding blue shirts in my hand that I got out of the laundry, hoping that if I stare at them long enough, a pointy-eared Vulcan might appear in them like a fucking genie, _went unsaid.

When the door slid open to reveal his friend looking tired, but also thoroughly annoyed, Kirk put on his best, golden smile. "What can I do for you, Doctor?"

Bones sauntered in and closed the door behind him. "Don't _Doctor_ me, kid. It's been almost a month now. When are you gonna find a new First Officer?" his friend deadpanned, instantly wiping the half-hearted smile off Kirk's face. The captain stiffened as a result and busied himself with some PADD's on his desk, his eyes averted. They'd had this conversation before—or, had _tried_ to have this conversation.

"I have one."

Bones sighed dramatically and stepped closer. "Jim, Spock's not in the Fleet any…"

"I wasn't talking about Spock," Kirk cut him off quickly, and tipped his head up to glare. "I was referring to Sulu," he finished quietly, but firmly.

Bones' glared at him in frustration. "Dammit, Jim! That might've been fine and dandy when Spock was on Altriri IV, but that's because it wasn't permanent! Sulu can't stay the First Officer _and _the Helmsman!"

Kirk slammed a PADD down and shot up from his desk. "And why the hell not? Spock was the First Officer and Science Officer, wasn't he? If he can do it, why can't Sulu?"

Bones leveled his eyes at him. "Because, Jim. Spock is a goddamn Vulcan. To him, shuffling two major responsibilities like that was a piece of cake. He was a walking computer for Christ's sake!" Bones shouted, thoroughly exasperated.

Kirk narrowed his eyes. "Don't call him that, Bones," he said darkly; defensively. And why? Bones had always called Spock things like that. Why did it all the sudden bother him? Especially given that when Spock _was _here those past few weeks, Bones had been a much better friend to the Vulcan than he had been.

Bones frowned and stepped forward defiantly. "Oh? And since when do you care what I call him, Jim? Or have you forgotten how you treated Spock in those last weeks he was onboard?" the doctor spat accusingly.

Kirk looked away as a pang of guilt swelled up within him.

"_I don't __**care**__ enough about you anymore to stop you."_

Had those not been his last words to the Vulcan he was supposed to be a friend too? The Vulcan that he could not stop thinking about since the moment he'd left the ship? The Vulcan he had told Bones he'd fallen for?

_That same Vulcan told you he didn't want your friendship. That he didn't need it_, a dark voice in the back of his mind reminded him. However, even that fact did nothing for his guilt or his sadness.

Kirk didn't say anything to the doctor's accusation. Instead, he sat himself back down behind his desk deflatedly. Bones watched him and sighed in defeat before taking a seat of his own. "Look, Jim. I'm sorry, that was a low blow. I know how you feel about Spock, and I shouldn't have thrown it in your face like that. We've both been emotionally compromised it seems."

"No, it wasn't a low blow, Bones," Kirk corrected him. "You're right. I did treat Spock like shit when he came back," he affirmed guiltily and quietly as his mind replayed every conversation he and Spock had had after Altriri IV.

None of them had been positive. They'd all gone bad. Even the ones that _had_ started off decently.

Bones frowned. "I know you acted like an ass Jim. I'm not going to deny that. I even said some things I'm not proud of. But Spock didn't do himself any favors either. You _did _try to get through to him. Hell, we all did. I know some things were said that shouldn't have been said, but you weren't the only one saying them. It's Spock's own fault he's too damn stubborn, and too damn proud to admit those feelings he swears he doesn't have. I just hope that stubborn streak doesn't get him into trouble. Spock has never been good about getting himself out of trouble. He takes after you in that way," Bones ended accusingly, and glared at Kirk.

Kirk ignored the chide, and peered at Bones desperately, which startled the man for a second. "I really did try, Bones. I tried to get through to him. I pressed every button I could that would make him crack; that would make him just fucking _tell me_ what was wrong with him," he stated in frustration as memory after memory of his arguments with Spock in those last few weeks came parading to the forefront of his mind. "I must have read his damn report for that fucking planet a thousand times since he left, and you know what?"

Bones waited.

"Nothing. There's absolutely _nothing _in it that strikes me as abnormal. So, I'm either the biggest dumbass alive, or there's really nothing to see. Spock probably really had just wanted to move on to better and more logical things. Time apart has a way of making you see things clearly. Altriri IV was Spock's _time apart,_" Kirk admitted bitterly and flung a PADD lying on the desk out of his way in irritation.

Bones sighed. "Perhaps that's true."

Kirk winced at the blunt observation, but the doctor continued anyway. "And perhaps it isn't. I'm still no closer to the truth now than I was back when Spock was still on board. Either way, he's there and you're here, and you've got a ship to run, Jim. And a First Officer to pick—a _permanent _one," Bones added firmly just as Kirk opened his mouth to protest. "Sulu is great, but he's no Vulcan, and he can't keep juggling those two positions. It was fine for a month, but eventually it's going to wear down on him. You know that. You're going to have to pick someone," Bones finally finished, his eyes leveled.

Kirk nodded solemnly. He knew his friend was right. It just sucked. The reality of this whole situation sucked ass. "Yeah, I know. Admiral Marcus says there's a potential candidate at the next starbase we're headed to that can fill the role. A Gary Mitchell."

"You know him?"

Kirk shook his head. "Nope. Never heard of him. But Admiral Marcus is being kind of insistent about me bringing him on, and I'm not really in a position to say no. I don't know if I'm still on his shit list or not, and without Spock here to cover my ass, well, I've gotta watch myself," he muttered dejectedly. He hated that Marcus, who was light years away, was trying to tell him how to run his ship, but there was nothing that could be done about it at the moment. Before, Kirk might have fought harder against having First Officers that he hadn't picked for himself getting put on his ship. But ever since Spock had left, fighting had just gotten tiresome; pointless.

Bones looked hesitant. "Are you sure you want a First Officer you don't know? I mean, you have to work with the guy closer than anyone else. You sure you don't want to…"

"You said it yourself, Bones. I need another First Officer, and the next starbase won't be for at least several weeks. I can't expect Sulu to keep filling two major positions. It's not fair to him," Kirk interrupted begrudgingly. He didn't like it either. God he really didn't like it, but he didn't really have a choice. That's what happened when your First Officer decided to leave without giving notice. Spock had really put him in a bind with his abrupt resignation, and technically if he had wanted to, Kirk could have requested a dishonorable discharge for such behavior.

But…having a dishonorable discharge on one's record was like having a big ass black stain on a white T-shirt that said, _'I have a contagious disease'_. It was the first thing you noticed, and the last thing you remembered.

He wouldn't be the reason Spock had a hard time finding work. Kirk couldn't imagine ever staining Spock's record like that. It didn't matter if Spock had never thought of him as a friend, Kirk would always care about him. Always.

"Yeah, I guess you're right, Jim. Just be careful. I don't really trust Marcus," Bones commented in a serious tone.

"It's not that I don't trust him, I just don't like him. There's just something about him that puts me off, if that makes sense." Kirk clarified, but then reconsidered. "Although, he has been answering my questions about Spock, and I suppose I should be grateful for that. I really expected him tell me Spock wasn't my business anymore."

"Oh, really?" Bones probed in genuine curiosity before continuing. "What kinds of questions are you asking? And…why haven't you told me?" he stated the last part with a bit of annoyance, but Kirk ignored it.

"Not a whole lot, Bones," Kirk answered, blatantly ignoring the doctor's last, accusative question. "I just wanted to confirm that Spock had made it to Earth, you know? I wanted to make sure he'd gotten there safely. I don't trust those fucking shuttle transports. They get raided by slavers all the time way out here, and Spock isn't just a Vulcan, which are an endangered race now. He's also the only half-Vulcan around. He'd make a slaver very rich," he finished darkly, hating the image of Spock possibly getting captured by slavers and taken to God knows where in the galaxy, never to be seen again.

"Well, you're right about that. Anything with pointy ears that avoids contractions like the plague has a price tag on their head," Bones started before becoming thoughtful. "How is he?"

"Spock?"

Bones leveled his eyes. "No, dumbass, Admiral Marcus. Of course I'm talking about Spock," the man deadpanned.

Kirk rolled his eyes. "I got a message from Marcus three days ago, actually. He says Spock joined some science expedition in the Gamma Quadrant. Says he left at the beginning of the week," Kirk replied, and tried hard not to sound disappointed. Somewhere out there, Spock was on a different ship, and it bothered him that he wasn't on _his_ ship.

"Well, at least he'll be putting his talents to good use. He'll be good on a science vessel, Jim. You know that's his element. He'll be happy doing something like that."

"I guess…"

Bones sighed again at the depressed tone. "At least he's doing _something_, Jim. If something were seriously wrong with him, do you really think he'd be hard up to get on the first ship he could, and skip off to the Gamma Quadrant, a trail of pixie dust behind his ass?"

Kirk slowly shook his head. "No, I suppose not." His voice sounded bleak, and despondent, but it couldn't be helped. It bothered him that Spock would choose to serve as some variation of science officer on another ship, and not the Enterprise. It meant that Spock was fine being in space, just not being in space on the Enterprise. Which really meant not being in space with him; and damn that fucking hurt.

When the awkward silence that descended upon the room became too much, Bones cut in with a cough and stood. "Look, I've gotta get to sickbay, my shift's about to start," he informed him tiredly.

"Yeah, I guess I need to get up to the bridge, Uhura will take my head off if I'm late again."

"I hear she's been temperamental lately," Bones added as he walked toward the door.

"Can you blame her? Spock was her friend too, and I think it hurt her when he left. Apparently, he didn't even tell her he was doing it. I thought that when he'd left my quarters that night, he would have at least told her of all people. They weren't getting along there at the end, but still."

"If anyone should be mad about him sneaking off like that, it's me. Spock was my patient, Jim. He could've at least let me know his plans so I could've found him someone to follow up with on Earth. In fact…I'm still pissed off about that."

A surge of worry encased Kirk as he thought about the weight problem Spock had had onboard. "Do you think he will be okay? I mean, you said he'd gained a bit of weight. Do you think he'll keep doing better?" Kirk prodded hopefully.

"Until you just told me that Spock was going to be on a science vessel, I'll admit it Jim, I was worried about him. But I'm not worried about that anymore. If Spock's on a ship, that ship will have its own doctor, and they'll keep him in line. I didn't like the idea of Spock on Earth with no one monitoring him. It's easy to avoid a doctor completely when you're a citizen amongst a huge population again. However, on a science vessel, you can't avoid the doctor. They'll take care of him."

A small sliver of relief slid through Kirk. Bones was right. If Spock were on a ship, then he'd have to see that ship's doctor. They would take care of him. Maybe not as good as Bones could, but at least he was being looked after. "You're right, Bones. Thanks."

"I'd like to talk to that doctor though if possible; if only to follow up with him or her. I'd like to know that Spock is progressing. It would certainly help me sleep better at night," Bones added gruffly.

"You and me both. I asked Marcus about getting Spock's contact information, and he said the ship wouldn't permit it. Apparently whatever vessel Spock is on isn't Starfleet, but privately owned and funded by some research corporation dealing in some pretty high grade shit. I guess they're worried about spies or something in their ranks stealing information for other competitors," Kirk said bitterly. When Marcus had told him he couldn't contact Spock, he'd been pissed. He didn't know just what the fuck he would say to Spock if he could open communication with him again, but, he'd wanted to have that option if he desired it.

"That's…weird," Bones supplied oddly as he finally slid Kirks' door open and proceeded out into the corridor, Kirk falling into step beside him.

"Yeah. It is," the captain finished suspiciously, and he couldn't help the awkward feeling that swept over him; the feeling that he was missing a bigger piece of the puzzle.

**((oOo))**

** San Francisco, Earth**

** Present Day**

"Mr. Spock?" a woman's voice sounded loudly through the mildly crowded lobby, prompting Spock to raise his head from the digital magazine he had been dabbing through. He had been waiting for forty-five minutes now. The interview had been scheduled to take place forty minutes ago.

He rose stiffly, and ignored the stares cast his way. They no doubt recognized his name, and knew who he was given his physical features.

Or, who he _had_ been.

Spock's identity had more often than naught been a cause for confused excitement from the civilians who had recognized him on the streets. But in the professional setting? Wariness and confusion seemed to be the predominant emotions. It had made the prospect of attending interviews an anxious and dreadful process.

The woman smiled politely at his approach and held the door open for him so he could proceed inside. "How are you today, Mr. Spock?" she asked him, much to his irritation.

Spock strode lightly behind, permitting her to lead the way. To do otherwise would be rude, and he desperately wanted to make a good impression. He had been on Earth for almost a month now, and he still had yet to find employment. With every food purchase, every hotel bill, and every new piece of clothing he had been forced to purchase for his interviews, his credits had quickly diminished. He would not be able to last much longer on what existed in his account. Spock needed employment, and he needed it as soon as possible.

"I am functional," Spock answered, but found his response to be lacking the moment he'd said it. He had never been one for what human's had deemed, _small talk. _Such endeavors were illogical. The state of the woman in front of him had no effect on his day. They did not know one another. Yet, it all came back to that first impression, and because of that, Spock found himself opening his mouth again. "Might I inquire as to how the events in your day are unfolding?"

It was odd to him that the only person he had actually enjoying engaging in small talk with had been Jim.

She chuckled at his apparently unusual response, which prompted him to raise an eyebrow. He had not intended it to be a humorous question, yet he did not comment.

"My day is going great so far. I have to say though," she turned and regarded him appreciatively. "We've never had a Vulcan apply for a position before. It's kind of exciting, really," she finished in a giddy voice, and turned her face forward again. Her vibrant brunette hair twirled about her as she did so, and Spock caught the faint scent of mangos and pineapple; the woman's shampoo. Smelling it reminded him of the shampoo that Jim used to utilize. It had not been fruity in its scent. It had held more of an ocean scent, if Spock had to give it a characteristic. The Vulcan remembered being able to smell it at random points throughout the day when both he and Jim had been on duty together. He remembered that sometimes, when he would venture into their shared bathroom, the smell of his shampoo would be overpowering because Jim had just recently made use of it. He remembered standing there, in their shared bathroom, just relishing the scent. He remembered…

Spock hastily shook his head to rid himself of the memories. They served no purpose, and only made him feel more miserable than he already felt. He did not wish to feel that way minutes before a job interview. He did not wish to keep comparing everything that happened to him in his day-to-day life to Jim.

The woman gave him an awkward look when he did not respond to her comment, but he honestly did not know what to say. Spock did not understand why applying for a position in electronic repairs would garner excitement from her. It was completely illogical.

"It's just through there, Mr. Glanstein is expecting you. Good luck." She winked at him and disappeared off down the hallway, leaving him alone.

Spock took a deep breath to gather himself, and knocked on the door. He was a bit surprised that an electronics company did not utilize a more modern door with a panel. Dr. McCoy would have certainly appreciated this door's antiquity though.

"Come in, come in," a voice called impatiently from the other side.

Spock's determination deflated a bit. It was not a good sign that the interviewer was already exhibiting negative emotions toward him.

Fluidly, Spock entered the small office, and gracefully closed the door behind him before walking closer toward the man behind the desk. He was a plump sort of man with thinning, brown hair and a goatee adorning his chin.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Glanstein. I thank you for agreeing to see me," Spock greeted politely, and bowed slightly.

The man's eyes widened a bit and he smiled. "Well, well…" he started as he rose from his desk and thrust a hand out for Spock to shake. The Vulcan internally recoiled at making such contact. It was bad enough that he constantly felt the emotions that lingered around him. Establishing physical contact would be doubly worse for more reasons than Spock cared to admit to.

However, he would have to endure this. The human in front of him obviously did not know about Vulcan customs, or he didn't care, and Spock did not wish to be discourteous by pointing them out. Reluctantly, the Vulcan removed his hand from behind his back and shook the one outstretched to him. Curiosity was the dominant emotion surging through the contact.

_At least that is the only emotion, _Spock thought in relief.

"It is a good afternoon! Now, my secretary might have mentioned your name, but my memory is horrible as of late," Mr. Glanstein commented meekly, and continued to shake the Vulcan's hand in a robust sort of way. Something about the emotions stirring within the man told Spock that he did indeed know his name though.

"My name is Spock, Mr. Glanstein." Quickly, Spock prepared himself for the same emotion he had felt from all of his previous interviewers. Mr. Glanstein did not disappoint, for no sooner had he shared his name did a wave of hesitance come through. A moment later the human dropped his hand and waved to the chair in front of his desk. "Please, take a seat." His expression shifted slightly, but he kept his smile as he reclaimed his seat.

"Thank you," Spock said quietly as he too, took a seat.

"You are the same Spock who used to be in Starfleet, right?" the man blurted out, his gaze calculating.

Spock didn't flinch at his brusqueness. He had grown accustomed to it by now. "You are correct."

The man raised his chin in curiosity. "Yes, I remember looking at your file a couple of days after you applied with us. You're the one who was dishonorably discharged?" he pointed out, but there was something else in his tone, something that Spock couldn't quite pick up on.

Ignoring the _something else, _Spock peered at him sharply, but kept his face impassive. Again, he was used to this line of questioning from his interviewers. "Also correct."

"And now here you are, interviewing for a job in repairing useless things like PADD's, communicators, holoplayers…"

"I hold a class A7 Computer Rating, and my knowledge of the devices you mentioned is sufficient for such endeavors," Spock hastened to clarify.

The man evened his eyes. "Exactly. You're over-qualified. _Way_ over-qualified."

Spock felt dread settle into the pit of his stomach. He had been told this before from some of the other companies he'd managed to interview with, and quite frankly, he had grown tired of hearing it. "I am not in the habit of seeking employment with a company I do not wish to work for," Spock informed as politely as possible. Did it really matter if he was over-qualified? Did that not logically mean that he would be able to perform the necessary duties expected with such a position to an exceptional degree? Even go beyond that?

"Obviously I wouldn't be worried about you being able to repair some man's holoplayer so they could continue watching their porn in the middle of the night when they think the wife's asleep," Mr. Glanstein chuckled. "But usually, people with your skill set expect a higher rate of pay, and I run a business here, Mr. Spock. Why would I pay you twice the amount to do a job someone with even a third of your skill set could complete?"

Spock straightened up slightly in his chair. "I would not request that you pay me at a higher rate merely based on my skills. I would be more than willing to accept the standard rate of pay for this position. My…skill sets have no bearing on salary." _Even if they have won the Federation a treaty, _went unsaid.

Mr. Glanstein sighed heavily, and leaned back in his chair, his arms folded lazily behind his head. Jim had often exhibited himself this way, but it was much different when Jim had done it. The man doing it now in front of him was the direct opposite of Jim, and Spock thought it highly unprofessional to conduct oneself in such a way. But again, he kept his comments to himself. He needed this job. His credit account needed it. His bills needed it.

Becoming desperate, Spock searched his chronically aching mind for something to say, something that would change the direction of the conversation. Perhaps the human was harboring another reason for his reluctance in giving Spock the position. Perhaps it was a reason he could compromise on.

"If your reluctance is caused by the dishonorable discharge on my record, I can assure you that fact has no bearing on my reliability." The expression on Mr. Glanstein's face faltered slightly at his words. Obviously, the dishonorable discharge was making the man extremely reluctant to hire him. That much Spock could discern.

"If offered the position, I would commit myself fully to your company. I am capable of working elongated hours without the need of taking breaks…" Spock started hastily. He did not wish to be turned away _again_ because of that black mark on his record.

"Standard labor laws require you to receive breaks, Mr. Spock, and there is a limit to how many hours you can work in a given week," Mr. Glanstein cut in casually, which meant that just because Spock was able to do those things, did not mean it held bearing on whether or not he was more appealing for the position. The man's tone had been the most disheartening thing to hear, however. It was the tone of a man who had already made up his mind. What Spock was hearing across from him was a precedent to the dreaded, _'we will contact you,'_ statement; which meant he would never hear from the company again.

"I will accept half the rate of your standard pay for the position," Spock tried in one last attempt to obtain the job. It would not be enough credits to continue living in the hotel room once the remainder of his funds had become insufficient, and it certainly would not be enough to rent an apartment up to his standards; but half the rate of pay was better than nothing. He would deal with the rest as it came to him. _I'm just gonna wing this one, Spock, _Jim had often said to him. However, Spock did not feel that same confidence now that his former captain usually exhibited as he contemplated doing the very same thing.

Spock's declaration, however, got the man's attention, and he leaned forward again in his chair; his expression one of interest now. "Half the rate?"

"Affirmative," Spock instantly answered.

The human leaned back again, his gaze thoughtful. "You really need this job, don't you. I've seen a lot of things in my day, Mr. Spock, but I've never seen a Vulcan this desperate for a job a college student could do. Hell, even a high school student!" Mr. Glanstein finished in shocked amusement.

Spock bristled at the blatant insult hidden as an observation, but kept his face devoid of emotion. He doubted this human had seen many Vulcans at all. "Do I have the position?" he asked stiffly. If he did not, there was no point staying here to further shame himself. He had once been a Science Officer as well as the First Officer on the best ship in the Fleet. He had once been offered a position into the Vulcan Science Academy. He had _once_ been a professor at Starfleet Academy. To think that he had been reduced to such a rudimentary occupation was difficult to accept and contemplate. If his father had known how far he had fallen…

_It is fortunate my father believes me to be on a science vessel in the gamma quadrant, then, _Spock thought in bitter relief.

Mr. Glanstein considered his words, and in Spock's opinion, took much too long a time to do so. "I don't have any open positions here in San Francisco," he said awkwardly. In fact, it almost sounded rehearsed. Spock let his eyes drop, and physically deflated—much to his shame. What was he going to do now? He had enough credits to pay the hotel fee in two days time, but what about the next time? What about his payment to Starfleet that was due again in just a few weeks? What about food? He hadn't eaten in the past few days, and granted his absence of appetite; Spock knew he would have to eat again sooner or later.

"However…" the man added while grabbing for his PADD. Spock peered up at him sharply, and almost hopefully. "It's kind of far considering the pay grade for this position, but I've got an office in New York City. It's one of our older offices, not nearly as modern, but they need a guy, and I've been promising to send someone their way. If you're willing to relocate, the position is yours."

There were no words to describe the relief Spock felt. Finally—_finally_ he would have a job, an occupation, a place of employment. "Of course I will accept, I am grateful for the opportunity, when shall I be prepared to leave?" he replied, keeping the excitement out of his voice. It was strange, to be so excited over acquiring and entry-level job, especially one he would have to relocate for. He had not even been this excited when he had been accepted into Starfleet Academy. It seemed that the emotional response out of receiving something you _needed_ versus something you _wanted_ were starkly different.

"They need someone up there as soon as possible. Can you be in New York City by the end of the week?"

"Yes, sir," Spock replied instantly. He had no idea where he would stay in New York, but there was nothing in San Francisco for him anymore anyway. Perhaps it would be good to move on. He did not know the city at all. He had been to New Jersey when he was a child, but that would not benefit him in this situation. However, he would cross that bridge when he came to it, as Jim would have said.

"Okay great, do you have a communicator they can reach you by?"

Spock frowned. "I regret that I do not have one in my possession. I do have a personal PADD that I can be reached on however," he pointed out with chagrin. Hopefully it would not make the man reconsider the offer.

"That'll do for now, but I suggest getting a personal communicator. PADD's can be a bitch to converse over, and I know Wesley won't like having to deal with you over one. I'll let them know you've been hired, and that you'll be there by the end of the week. Expect a message from them."

Spock nodded and gave his contact information over. The man looked it over in approval and stood to shake Spock's hand again. This time, the emotions he felt were satisfaction, elatedness, and another feeling Spock found difficulty in describing. If he had to identify it, it would be smugness.

"I thank you again, Mr. Glanstein," Spock spoke in gratitude as he allowed his hand to be shaken.

"I should be the one thanking you. Half pay? Wesley will shit a brick."

Spock did not respond. He did not wish to only accept half the pay rate when the original rate was so low to begin with, but again, he had needed the job. It did perturb him however, that apparently the position he was about to fill had been open for some time, and apparently the company had had a difficult time filling it, yet the human had still been reluctant in giving him the job.

It disheartened him, as he exited the small office building and waded back onto the busy sidewalk, that despite his skills, if he had not offered up such a compromise he would likely have never been offered the job in the first place. It seemed that whenever he attempted to acquire something, he ended up having to sacrifice more than he was capable of sacrificing in the process of doing so. Be it his mind, his body, and in this specific case, his credits.

**A.N. So? I know this chapter was probably pretty sucky compared to others, and I apologize for that. The name of this chapter came from the song, "Stranger in Moscow" by Michael Jackson. Lyrics are perfect for Spock's feelings on Earth. **

**Now, as for the issue I wanted to address for anyone who might be feeling this way? I received a complaint on the level of angst in this fic. That it's too drawn out and too exaggerated. That reading Spock's particular aftermath to what's happened is unneeded and unnecessary to this type of story. In addition that, I was also told that Kirk should have found out the truth at the end of arc 1. I'm not sure how many people might feel that way, so if you will allow me to explain my motivation for dragging this out like I am. **

**I personally don't feel the angst in this is over the top or exaggerated. This story is centered around the aftermath of rape, a very traumatic and violent experience that takes most people a very long time to come to peace with. There are victims of rape that carry that burden around with them for years, and while I don't intend to have Spock go years without getting comfort, I also did not want to write a story that would have him suffer something as traumatic as rape, if only to have him get over it in a few scant weeks. That's not realistic to me, and neither is Kirk finding out the truth at the end of arc 1. I tend to depict the grey areas of life in my writing, and unfortunately people can go a multitude of months without realizing their loved ones are hiding something so horrific. Not so much because they're stupid, but because subconsciously, they don't want to conceive of something like that happening to a loved one.**

**I do apologize if writing this way loses me people, but I just can't downplay this kind of trauma. Hopefully, that explanation will answer any questions or doubts some of you might have. If it doesn't feel free to ask me ;) **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I do apologize for the rant. I really wanted to express myself on this issue, and this is really the only place I can. **


	14. This Bitter Earth

**A.N. I want to apologize for not getting this to everyone on Sunday. I live in Dallas, Texas, and if anyone watches the news, this is where all that Ebola stuff has been going on. (But thankfully it's starting to die down now) I admit, I've been very caught up in it this week. One of my friend's families is in isolation because of it, and it's just been a very hectic week. **

**I want to thank everyone reviewing, and I actually was surprised at how well received Spock having to worry himself with bills was to the majority of the readers. I'm glad I could add in that smidgen of realism because it is something I don't really see a lot in fanfiction in general, but have always wondered about. There is still a lot of those things to come in this story. **

**As for this chapter, it is purely Spock centric, and I do reference some human diseases that may or may not still be around in the 23****rd**** century, but it was far preferable than coming up with one and having to explain it. I do hope everyone enjoys this, and again, I'm sorry for making y'all wait! **

**Chapter Fourteen**

**This Bitter Earth**

After returning to the hotel and heading toward the stairs, Spock had been almost half way up them when an unruly group of people came flying down; nearly knocking the Vulcan down in their haste. Spock cringed and paused to permit them to pass, hoping that the emotions they brought along with them would soon leave his troubled mind. It was apparent in their chaotic emotions that they were up to nothing positive for the rest of the evening, but what could Spock do? And more importantly, what was he prepared to do? Perhaps before he might have followed them to make sure nothing illegal happened, and that no one would come to harm.

But that had been before. Spock was not so sure as to how effective he could be in such a situation now, given his present condition.

The group of people spared him a strange look, but fortunately walked on down the stairs and out of sight, leaving Spock alone on the stairwell once again. He took that small moment to inhale deeply before gathering himself and proceeding all the way up the flight of steps and to his room.

While it was true that he did not have to be in New York City until the end of the week, Spock elected to leave as soon as possible. As a result, he wasted no time in beginning to pack his things. If he was going to have to purchase a communicator, then Spock would not have a sufficient amount of credits to book the room any longer given everything else he was at the moment, having to budget for. However, leaving the hotel now left a tedious problem on the horizon for him, and that was that once he arrived in New York, where would he reside?

It was true that he could opt to not purchase the communicator at the moment. He _could_ wait until the credits he received from his new employer were allowed to build up until they eventually accrued to a logical amount, wherein he would be able to obtain one without having to sacrifice anything else. Having said that, Mr. Glanstein had informed Spock that the man known as _Wesley_, (whom the Vulcan had to assume was an individual in management, and therefore someone he would more than likely have to answer to) did not favor conversing by way of a PADD. Spock certainly did not wish to begin his new occupation with his superior disliking him because he was not prepared by having the appropriate equipment to perform the duties expected of him. Such a wish eventually led him to the decision to purchase one as soon as possible. If that meant sacrificing the assurance that he had a place to stay for a few nights, then so be it. There were more important things than the comfort of a room.

Pulling out his two duffel bags, it dawned on Spock just how much he had utilized them over the past few months. He errantly wondered, as he opened the first bag, when the time would come when he wouldn't have to pack them anymore; when he would not have to move himself to yet another location. And…when would he finally _find_ a permanent location?

Quelling his distressing thoughts about the future, that were still quite unanswered in his opinion, Spock decided to pack what little clothing he owned first. He was sure to put his meditation robe at the bottom of the bag so that the other garments would hide it from view. Despite the growing distance between his time down on Altriri IV and the present, he still could not bring himself to look upon the gifted robe without growing nauseous and tense.

Given the increase in clothing during the weeks of his job search, the first bag had to be entirely devoted to them. The only other thing that would fit was his toiletries bag. Once the first duffel was sufficiently full, Spock set it aside and moved on to the second one where he packed the remainder of his items. It was not until he got to the chess set in the closet that the Vulcan was forced to pause.

Spock could not help the pang his heart gave at seeing the board again; especially after how the past few weeks had gone. For the moment, he completely forgot about his endeavor to pack, and walked back into the room; the chessboard in one hand, and the bag of pieces in the other. He then walked all the way over to the stiff bed and sat down beside his duffel bags. After a few seconds, he placed the board on his trembling lap, and despite everything that had happened since acquiring it, Spock could not halt the surge of longing that hit him square in the chest as his fingers tightened around the game board. It was an almost primitive longing for the one individual who used to sit on the other side of it while they played. The individual who used to smile at him that rare smile that only _he_ possessed. What Spock wouldn't give to see that smile now when the world seemed like it could no longer produce them.

Out of all the memories Spock held in his eidetic mind, the memories surrounding the board in his hands were among the most prized and the most treasured. In his opinion, they were right up there on the same pedestal as his memories surrounding his mother. If Spock had to choose a term to apply to the emotions tied to them? Happiness. Happiness was the only one that seemed applicable. He had never understood happiness. It was such an illogical term, and even during his time on the Enterprise before Altriri IV he had never understood it. Until now, Spock had never realized that he had felt happy back then.

Somehow, without even realizing it, he had begun to feel happiness on that ship with the crew. With Jim. How perfect that he would realize it now when there was nothing left. It saddened him, as the Vulcan sat there on the bed, that he had not realized such emotions until now, when they were no longer there to be felt. The only thing that could be felt was their absence. Spock wondered if all humans underwent such a thing. If they too did not realize what they had until it was gone.

Such questions were why he held onto the board in his hands with such fierceness. Holding it reminded him that such things had existed once, even if for only a brief time. Even now, when the board was quite useless and logically quite a waste of space, Spock still felt content holding it, and fearful at the thought of losing it. Jim did not care for him; he had made that abundantly clear in person as well as on paper given the dishonorable discharge. But Spock would like to think, as they had sat across from one another in amicable competition, that maybe the captain had cared just a little bit. Even if Jim had only felt a miniscule amount of affection toward him, Spock would gladly accept it as opposed to nothing at all.

Besides. It was the only thing left of Jim that Spock owned, the only thing tangible that Jim himself had touched. Because of that, Spock would cherish the chessboard and never part with it despite the memories that threatened to taint it. He would keep it always in spite of them, if only to remind himself of what things had once been like, and that he should be grateful for having at least been able to experience those things, those feelings, even if they had not lasted long.

Spock permitted his hands to tighten once more over the board in an almost possessive manner before he gently placed it in the duffel bag amongst his other items. The way he did so was delicate and tender, as if at any moment it might shatter into a million pieces much like his life had done. Once it had been safely stored inside, Spock added what was left of his possessions and stood up to ready himself for departure. He made quick work of paying what he owed on the room, and then headed off in the direction of the nearest transit station so that he could board the next hover train making its way to New York City. He would not be able to afford a shuttle transport, which would get him there in a fourth of the time. It simply was not in his budget.

As Spock walked through the crowded streets, he dreaded with each passing step the coming trip. Once he was at the station, he ignored the lingering stares and walked up to purchase his ticket for the next hover train departing San Francisco for New York City.

"I'm sorry Sir, the last train for New York City left thirty minutes ago," the woman at the ticket stand informed him apologetically, her plump cheeks reddening slightly.

"When will the next one be departing?" Spock asked hastily, and was careful not to let his irritation show in his voice. The transit station was overly crowded, and the chronic pain in his head increased dramatically with every minute he was forced to stand inside of it. It was as if every errant emotion was seeking out the only Vulcan in the building and doing their best to make their presence known, and above all, felt. The woman though would assume he was irritated with her, and Spock did not wish that.

"There is another one scheduled to leave in about five hours and twenty minutes. We usually have more departing, but unfortunately, we are short staffed on conductors this month, and the conductor for that particular train had an emergency come up," she answered him and looked over his shoulder as if to say, '_so make your decision so I can keep the line moving.'_

Spock stood there a moment and pondered his options. He did not wish to wait five hours and twenty minutes to go to New York City. Given the timing, if he did that, then when he arrived it would be dark and the Vulcan did not wish to walk through the streets of New York at nighttime. He was completely unfamiliar with the city and he did not wish to become lost. He would rather arrive during the day so that he could perhaps purchase his communicator, and afterward attempt to find a relatively affordable place to stay that would not break his credit account.

If he had to sell his personal PADD to pay for such a place, then he would. His bills could be paid using his credit chip anyway. Therefore, once he had the communicator, the PADD would not be a necessity.

"Sir, if I may, you _could_ take the next train into New Jersey, and then board one of the local trains that would then take you into New York?" the woman suggested at his contemplative silence. Behind Spock, a man sighed, and the Vulcan winced as his impatience battered at him. He was obviously taking too long to come to a decision, much to the dismay of the people in line.

"I find that agreeable, thank you," Spock answered quickly, much to the satisfaction of the man behind him who groaned in sarcastic appreciation.

The woman smiled warmly at him and put her fingers to work at her terminal. "Okay! You're all set. The train to New Jersey departs in about forty-five minutes," she started and handed him a digital ticket with the train number, departure time, and his name. "You're lucky too. That train only has a couple of open spots left," she finished before bidding him farewell and a good trip.

"Well it's about time," the man behind Spock grumbled as he shoved past the Vulcan and to the ticket-stand. Spock paid him no attention though. From what he'd just heard, the hover train would be crowded as well, and he was _not _looking forward to it.

((oOo))

As he had already predicted, the train was extremely congested, and his migraine hurt all the more as a result. Apparently, Spock was not the only individual utilizing this particular method to reach New York given the errant protests around him from the varying passengers about the station not employing an adequate amount of conductors.

Throughout the entire ride, Spock could not seem to escape stares directed at him. Given his Vulcan heritage, as well as the fact that there were not many—if _any_—Vulcans on Earth outside of the Vulcan embassy any longer due to the destruction of Vulcan, Spock seemed to be the most interesting thing on the train. Fortunately though, the passengers had the decency to not question him or attempt conversation with him. It was hard enough to keep his face impassive as the migraine pounded away at his skull, let alone answer anyone's questions.

Throughout the length of the four-hour trip, which could have easily been a twenty minute trip had he traveled by shuttle, Spock strongly hoped that he would not suffer a nosebleed given the severity of his migraine. As the hover train glided into the New Jersey Transit Station, he was grateful that such a thing had not come to pass. He definitely did not wish to attract more attention by bleeding all over the train. His physiology seemed to garner enough attention as it was.

Thinking of his chronic nosebleeds led Spock to wonder about when his health insurance at _Barton and Co. Repairs_ would go into effect. He chastised himself for not inquiring about the health insurance when he'd had the chance. The Vulcan had been so eager in acquiring the position from Mr. Glanstein that it had not occurred to him to inquire about it back there in the small office. Whenever his health insurance did go into effect, Spock wondered if he should seek out the advice of a medical doctor regarding his chronic nosebleeds, and, if that doctor could do anything to stop them without finding out about his other underlying problems. Like the migraines.

It was risky, drawing attention to the nosebleeds, but Spock knew that he could only suffer them so long without devastating consequences. For one thing; judging by the cold sensations that the Vulcan sometimes felt in his hands and feet at random points in the day, he knew that he was anemic. True, it could also be a side-effect of being chronically underweight, but Spock erred more on the side of his nosebleeds being the culprit. Such a condition after all was only logical, considering that blood loss would have that effect if left untreated. It was only a matter of time before that anemia led to more significant problems. The same was true with his weight as well, but he would tackle them one at a time. If the nosebleeds did not stop, Spock knew he would have to do something about them.

As with the shuttle transport that had brought him to Earth, Spock made sure he was the first person off of the hover train. Quickly he acquired his luggage and made his way out of the New Jersey Station. As soon as he stepped outside though, Spock regretted his decision to come this far north. He had not taken into account how drastically the weather would change by doing so. He was not prepared in the slightest for such a change.

For a moment Spock just stood there on the steps while his entire body tensed as a result of the shrill March New Jersey wind rushing over and past him at a near menacing pace. Just breathing was uncomfortable, and Spock wondered how he would be able to endure walking the city in the clothes he currently donned, which was a simple black long-sleeved shirt, and black pants. Both garments were paper thin.

Back in San Francisco, the temperature had been at a tolerable sixty-five degrees, and while Spock still would have preferred it to be much warmer, sixty-five degrees posed no complication as long as the Vulcan took to wearing long sleeves and stayed in the direct sunlight as much as he could. But here in New Jersey? The long sleeves he currently donned were not going to be acceptable. With the added wind chill, Spock knew that he would have to purchase a much heavier coat, gloves, a scarf, and even a hat if he was going to tolerate living in these conditions. Even with those items, the Vulcan would still have to be cautious of traveling outdoors in the winter months. His body was built for the desert, not for the snow.

Once he had gotten over the initial, physical shock at the change in temperature, which according to his PADD was now thirty-five degrees Fahrenheit, Spock pondered where he should go next.

_Communicator_, he thought a second later, and immediately headed on down the steps, his bags in hand. He needed to purchase more suitable clothing as well, but that was not as high on the priority list as a new communicator was. He needed to ascertain just how many credits he would have to end up spending before he worried himself with more clothing.

After glancing at a city map and committing it to memory, Spock headed off in the direction of the nearest store where he would be able to purchase the device he needed. It was not difficult finding the store, and neither had it been difficult in locating the store after it, or the one after that. No, the difficult part had been finding one that would sell him a communicator at the cheapest and most affordable price. Never before would Spock have described himself as what his mother had once referred to as a _bargain shopper. _Spock errantly wondered, as he tried store after store, what she would think of him now if she were here to witness him becoming just that_._

Finally, after two wintry hours of scouring the business section of New Jersey, Spock found a store that would sell him a communicator at a fair and acceptable price. It was not nearly as modern or efficient as the Starfleet issued communicator he had once had, but it would serve his purposes. Given that the device had cost him sixty-five credits, Spock decided to delete his private information off of his PADD as well as obtain the information he needed; like the contact information to his new employer, and sell it to the same company for forty credits. Even that had been difficult since the salesmen only wanted to give him twenty. Spock knew he would need every credit he had to not only purchase a coat now, but also another ticket on yet _another _hover train that would take him to New York City, and after that, he would have to find a place a stay. Therefore, he had not backed down on his asking price. Everything in his life now revolved around credits. Nothing could happen without them, and lately, the only thing on his mind that wasn't pain was thoughts about how to acquire more of them, and what he should do if he _couldn't _acquire more.

In fact, after Spock had found an acceptable enough coat at a thrift shop that would have made Nyota frown in distaste, he nervously wondered if after purchasing the ticket to New York City he would still even be able to _afford_ a place to stay. He only had two hundred credits left in his account. The ticket would likely cost thirty of those, and he knew he would have to eat tonight as well as more regularly. Spock had neglected to eat for the past three days already, and while he was still not hungry, he knew that to keep himself warm as well as alive, food was a necessity. 

He still had a few days left before his job was to begin in. Spock would have to stay somewhere for those few days. But how much was it going to cost him considering that he had no incoming credits? What if he could not find an affordable hotel? True, he could sleep on the street if he had to. He had even compromised to do such a thing back in San Francisco almost seven hours ago. But now with such a thing quickly about to become a reality, the Vulcan had to admit, he did not wish to experience it. Spock would avoid that option as much as possible. Not only did he feel ashamed at the prospect of being literally homeless, but he also feared the prospect of being attacked or mugged. What if the newly acquired communicator were stolen? Given his credit account, there was no way he would be able to replace it. Or, what if his chessboard, the only thing Spock had left that linked him to Jim, was stolen? Or damaged beyond repair? Spock knew that at the end of the day it was just an object; that it was illogical to value it more highly than the communicator which actually served a purpose. But to him, the chessboard was the most important thing he owned at the moment. Spock would sacrifice a thousand communicators if it meant keeping the board safe.

_Father would be proud, _Spock thought bitterly, and Jim? Jim would probably laugh at him for having kept it in the first place. Plus, if none of those things did come to pass; if he wasn't robbed or attacked, then the icy temperature would surely get the better of him.

Dispelling his dark thoughts, Spock hugged the bag containing the chessboard closer and continued to weave in and out of traveling pedestrians on the New Jersey sidewalks toward the train station. He chastised himself for not purchasing a ticket when he'd gotten off the train initially. What if they were all sold out now? _You will obviously have to stay here then, _he pointed out just before he came to a stop at a busy street corner and waited for the lighted signal to tell him it was safe to cross.

Beside him, a mother was straightening up a small human child's bright red coat and yellow scarf. Her hat and gloves were yellow to match, and her cheeks were a stark red color given the cold, battering wind. The child fussed and protested as her mother—for that's who Spock assumed it was—fuddled with the coat and complained about how she needed to button up all the buttons, and not just one so she wouldn't catch a cold.

When the human child noticed Spock staring down at her, she forgot her endeavor to complain and smiled and pointed up at him in excited awe. "Mommy! Mommy look! That man has pointy ears! Is he an elf? Like one of Santa's?" she yelled excitedly. Her childlike excitement battered against Spock, and despite it not being a negative emotion, the Vulcan found it painful all the same. A child's emotions were often erratic and strong, and eagerness was no exception.

The mother, who looked bemused at her daughter's body bopping eagerly up and down, turned and followed her line of sight until she met eyes with Spock. She then blushed furiously and stood up whilst gripping the child's gloved hand in her own to keep her from jumping up and down any further. "I'm so sorry, sir. She doesn't mean to be insulting," the mother apologized nervously and jerked her head toward the girl who was still staring up at Spock as if he were the most fascinating thing on the planet.

"Mommy! I know he's one of Santa's elf's! Can I tell him what I want for Christmas next year and then he can tell Santa? Can I, can I!?" the girl rambled on in a whiny voice, her eyes bright and mirthful. For a moment, Spock envied that mirth. He wondered what it would be like to experience it without the pain in his head. Even as a small child, Spock did not think he had ever experienced excitement such as what was being displayed now.

_A child…_

"He's not an elf, honey. That man is a Vulcan, and what did I tell you about sharing your comments with people you don't…" but Spock didn't hear the rest, for the light had signaled that they could now proceed safely across the street, and as a result, the woman and her child walked hastily out of earshot.

Spock had meant to follow. He had been waiting to cross the same street that they had been, but he could not move. Just watching the exchange with the child had given him an idea. Spock felt stupid for not thinking of it before. He _was_ in New Jersey, was he not? Spock had been here once before because this was where his mother's parents; his grandparents, resided. This was where Amanda had grown up before going to San Francisco to become a linguist. In fact, if his memory served him correctly, and it should since it was eidetic, his grandparents were located in a suburban neighborhood right on the edge of the city.

He had only been to visit their house once, but he remembered it clearly. He had been ten years old, and he and his mother had accompanied his father to Earth for diplomatic purposes which had just so happened to coincide with the Christmas holiday. While Sarek was attending to political matters at the embassy in San Francisco, Amanda had taken Spock to New Jersey to meet her family and celebrate the holiday with them. Spock remembered that they had been ecstatic to see his mother, who they had not seen in almost eleven years at the time. Their enthusiasm for him, however, had been minimal.

Spock had blamed it—and still did—on his inhuman personality, which had only seemed to encourage their indifference toward him all the more throughout their brief stay in the New Jersey neighborhood. As the years had continued to go by, Spock realized that his mother's family would certainly not be the last humans to react to him in such a way. Spock had gone on to experience indifference for the better part of his life, and he had only himself to blame for not being able to interact properly with his mother's species, let alone his father's species.

Now though, Spock was much older, and despite the recent happenings in his life, he would like to think that maybe he'd gotten better at interacting with humans. At least to an acceptable enough degree that perhaps his grandparents would find his presence agreeable.

At least, agreeable enough to permit him to stay with them as they had done all those years ago.

It would be a difficult thing to request as Spock was not in the habit of asking such favors of people, even he was related to them. He had not seen them since his childhood, and they had no logical reason to want to see him either. But perhaps, given that they _were_ family, the Grayson's would be willing to offer him a room until his new job started and he earned enough credits to acquire his own place. Spock realized that he would possibly be inconveniencing them with such a request, especially since he had neglected to give them notice, but again, he was desperate. He of course had every intention of paying them back. He was not about to get into the habit of accepting charity.

Spock also couldn't help the illogical wish to see a familial face. Since he had left the Enterprise, everything around him had felt more alien and foreign with every passing day. Truth be told, he had never felt so alone. True, he did not know his grandparents; not like his mother had known them, but a part of them still flowed through his veins did it not? Or, Spock would like to think so.

Decision made, Spock turned away from the intersection and headed back in the other direction; the direction that would take him to the neighborhood where the Grayson's lived. Or, at least where Spock _hoped _they still lived.

The walk through the city was long, cold, and tiring given that he had his luggage in tow. When he'd finally made it to the neighborhood, the Vulcan could no longer feel his fingers given their constant exposure to the wind, and his ears had not fared much better. His teeth chattered involuntarily in his mouth, and when he smelled the remnants of an active fireplace from a nearby residence, he couldn't quell the envy that rose up within him. What he would not give to be in front of a flame at the moment. His body was beyond cold despite the heavy winter coat, and he desperately craved the warmth that a simple fire could provide. Of course, not having gloves, a scarf, or a hat only escalated his condition and made him want warmth all the more.

The subdivision, if not slightly aged, looked exactly as Spock had remembered it. Tall red oak trees adorned the dead grass where winter had taken its toll on every lawn. The houses were large and elegant in their appearance, which gave the assumption that the people who took up residence in this particular neighborhood were quite wealthy and lived comfortably. Now that Spock was thinking more about it, his grandparent's house _had _been rather large and somewhat embellished. He remembered his cousins would run through the big domicile, engaged in a game of what humans called, _hide and seek_. Spock had never joined in the game play. He had not understood the point, and no had ever taken the time to explain it to him either. His cousins had also been wary of him, and Spock had made no moves to change those feelings despite the constant encouragement of his mother and aunts. Most of his time had been spent in either the backyard inspecting the various vegetation that had been so _alien_ to him as opposed to what had existed on Vulcan, or, with his mother in the kitchen where she had seemed to spend most of her time conversing with her sisters.

Spock could remember how much he had endeavored to avoid his mother's brother, who had openly expressed his disdain for the hybrid Vulcan child upon their first meeting.

"I can't believe you'd bring that…that _thing_ here in your mother's home, Mandy!" Spock's uncle Robert had yelled in disgust on their second night. Spock was supposed to have been asleep, but the shouting had kept him and his cousins up into the late hours of the night. Like a pack of thieves they had all huddled up on the staircase to eavesdrop. Spock had known he shouldn't have, but he hadn't been able to stop himself, especially since they had been discussing him.

"Don't you _ever_ speak about my son like that, Rob! He's just a child for Christ's sake!" Spock's mother had fired back, and the Vulcan child had winced at how fresh the memory still was in his mind; how clear her voice was, even after all these years.

"A child? He's a fucking genetics project, Amanda. Why else would you have needed so much help conceiving him?" Uncle Robert had fired back, which had been followed by an outraged gasp. "Oh yeah, Mandy. I know _all _about how hard it was bringing that thing into the world, and do you know why? Because he's not even supposed to exist, that's why!" Robert had gone on, which had made Spock's cousins regard him in bemusement. Spock remembered wishing that he could just run back to his room, but he had been rooted to the stairs.

"That is _enough!" _a voice Spock had recognized as belonging to his grandmother hissed vehemently. "Robert Jordan Grayson, if you say one more thing like that under this roof, I'll make you leave!" Grandmother Grayson finished icily.

"Mom, you knowthat dad would never—," Robert had attempted to cut in.

"Your _father_ will agree with me despite his feelings for Sarek," the woman had paused, "won't you Edward?" she furthered accusingly to what Spock had logically assumed was his grandfather. A sigh followed her query.

"Your mother's right, Rob. I won't have you speaking about your sister, or about her child, your nephew, in that way. Deal with it, or leave," Edward Grayson had responded in a no nonsense tone.

That had been nearly eighteen years ago, and at that time, Spock had not understood the animosity his uncle had held for him. Now though, he understood it perfectly because his uncle was not the only one to harbor such feelings toward him. His own people also disliked him, even if they showed it in quite another way.

Spock only hoped that he wouldn't encounter his uncle at his grandparent's estate today. Robert had been the main reason that Spock had not attended Amanda's funeral on Earth shortly after the _Narada _incident. He had of course attended the ceremony held for her by Sarek at the embassy; but out of respect for Amanda's human family as well as an attempt to keep the peace, Spock had decided that attending a funeral where his uncle Robert would be would only have caused friction and possibly an argument to break out. It had been better to avoid such a thing. He would not dishonor his mother's memory in such a way.

About five minutes later, Spock found himself standing in front of the home from his memory. It looked exactly as it had eighteen years ago aside from a few modern updates and different air cars in the driveway. The Vulcan let his eyes flit across the yard where his cousins had ran and played with one another until eventually, they traveled up to the porch where he had stood with his mother and watched the children impassively, but secretly wishing that he could understand their game so that might engage in it with them.

His mother was dead now, and would never stand on that porch again.

Taking a deep reassuring breath, Spock tightened his numb, freezing hands around the handle on his bags and proceeded up the long sidewalk that would take him to the front door. Again, the door was of old-fashioned make like the office he had interviewed at. Spock was beginning to wonder if humans that resided on Earth did not have a certain attraction for antiques. Jim had once mentioned to him that he had valued such things…

On that thought, Spock hastily raised his hand and knocked. After thirty seconds of no response, he knocked again, only this time, someone answered. She was an older woman, perhaps by terran standards in her early eighties. Her hair, or what was left of it, was white and styled to appear short and simplistic. Her face held numerous wrinkles and signs of aging, but her eyes…her eyes were the eyes of his mother, and for a moment Spock could not speak. He could only stare in wonderment at eyes he had only seen on one other person.

"Hello? Can I help you, young man?" the elderly woman asked in a withered voice, and squinted as the sun caught her eyes. Spock didn't fail to notice how she wrapped her fragile arms tightly around herself, no doubt in response to the frigid temperature.

"Is this the Grayson residence?" Spock asked timidly, though he was already sure of the answer. For there was no mistaking it, the elderly woman in front of him was his grandmother.

"Grayson? No…" she let her voice trail off in confusion, and placed her hand on her forehead in…pain? Frustration? Spock was not sure, and the emotions she was giving off were not helping him to decide, for they were quite erratic. "No…this is…this is the Landon residence. My parents are just inside. Are you wanting to talk to them?" his grandmother finished eagerly, and moved her body a fraction to the side as if to let him in. Spock could not help the illogical wish to step inside, especially since he could feel the warmth of the home coming through the doorway, teasing him with its comfort. But his grandmother's last statement kept him from doing so.

The Landons had been his mother's grandparents; which meant that they had been the parents to his grandmother, Mary Grayson. The woman in front of him was much too old to have parents that were alive. Spock felt a horrible sense of dread encompass him because such a statement implied that…

"Mom? Who is that at the door? I told you about answering the door!" a familiar male voice sounded from within the home, and Spock knew without a doubt just who the voice belonged to. His uncle.

Spock would never forget the way that man had sounded as the Vulcan child lingered on the stairs with his cousins, and listened to his mother fight with Robert as the man insulted his father as well as Spock.

" _I know all about how hard it was bringing that thing into the world, and do you know why? Because he's not even supposed to exist, that's why!"_

Those words would forever be ingrained in Spock's mind, and he could not describe the disappointment he felt knowing that that same man was just inside the house, and likely on his way to the front door.

"Are you selling something, son?" his grandmother asked him with a large smile, completely ignoring the man beckoning to her from inside.

"Negative, are you Mary Grayson?" Spock asked again, dread now overwhelming him. He wanted to turn and leave before his uncle came to the door, but he also wanted to speak to his grandmother, the woman who had been a mother to the one he had lost; the woman who had her eyes. The woman who, when he had come there as a child, had baked him chocolate chip cookies which had consequently gotten him drunk much to the horror of his mother.

The woman who had stood up for him in front of his uncle, but was apparently now being taken care of by him.

His grandmother now peered at him in bemusement. "My name is Mary, but my last name is Landon, not Grayson. I think you have the wrong house," she paused and frowned, and then a second later she looked up at him and smiled again as if she had never seen him before. "Are you selling something, dear?"

This time, Spock permitted himself to frown. It was glaringly obvious that Mrs. Grayson suffered from some mental ailment, and if he had to guess, it was likely Alzhiemer's disease which had become rare over the past century, but not unheard of, and still incurable. She obviously did not recognize him, and even if Spock were to announce his name and his relation to her, his grandmother would not know him. She would not understand. He would upset her. He should not have even come.

"Mother…" the male voice sounded loudly again, and this time the door behind Mrs. Grayson opened further to reveal a man about six feet tall, thinning brown hair, and broad features; his uncle.

"I think this nice young man is selling something, father! Perhaps it is for a fundraiser! We should buy something! It would be for a good cause!" Mrs. Grayson suggested excitedly, and again Spock was speechless. She sounded so much like Amanda when she spoke like that.

His uncle Robert narrowed his eyes at Spock, and placed his large hand gently on the woman's aged shoulders to steer her inside, his gaze never leaving the Vulcan. "Mother, why don't you go on inside," he stated gently and ushered her on in. She went without protest, mumbling to herself, and soon it was just Spock and his uncle standing there, staring at one another; one pair of eyes impassive, the other slightly hostile.

"Robert Grayson, I presume?" Spock asked stiffly.

"Who's asking?" the man spat.

"My name is Spock, I am your nephew. I am uncertain if you remember…" Spock started, not wishing to be rude by not introducing himself. It was possible that his uncle did not remember him, as he had only been ten years old the last time the two had met.

His uncle snorted, effectively cutting him off. "Oh, I know who you are. Recognized you the minute I opened the door. What are you doing here?" Robert asked sourly, and came out of the house to stand on the porch. He shut the door firmly behind him; the heat from inside abruptly going with it.

Spock held his ground. "I came to visit my grandparents," he answered truthfully, for that was why he'd come. Why he had walked miles upon miles in the freezing temperatures.

Robert snorted again and began to laugh bitterly.

Spock winced as the man's hostile emotions leaked into him, but quelled his distress a moment later. He did not wish to appear weak now. "I do not understand why that is humorous," he said in a clipped tone, and squared his shoulders. He did not come here to be laughed at.

Instantly the man quieted, glared at Spock, and stuck a finger in the Vulcan's chest. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here," he hissed.

"Clarify," Spock retorted, permitting a hint of bitterness to come into his voice. He had not come here for an altercation, but at this point it seemed unavoidable, and honestly, it felt _good_ to Spock to be able to let go of some of his bitterness. His anger.

"Clarify?" the man mocked loudly and stepped even closer to the Vulcan. "You're the entire reason she's dead you fucking half breed!"

Spock felt himself stiffen, and his head protested sharply as an intense wave of anger surged into him. "If it wasn't for you, my sister would be here, alive, and married to a _human_ with _human _children! Instead, she married that son of bitch Vulcan, and then you came along with your freakishness, and because you were such a freak, she had to stay on Vulcan with you! She had to live there, away from her family, away from the people actually _capable_ of loving her to take care of some Vulcan's emotionless spawn! Because of _you,_ she was on that planet when it was destroyed, and her along with it! You couldn't even come to her _funeral!?_" Robert boomed, his voice vibrating through the quiet neighborhood that had instantly dropped ten degrees in temperature, or so it felt like to Spock.

Spock stood there, speechless, as the man ranted and raved. What could he say? It was not as if Robert was wrong. He _had_ been the reason his mother had died with the rest of Vulcan, had he not? If he had been a second quicker…

"You don't understand what it did to this family when she died, Spock. What it's still doing. And for you to show up here now, expecting some sort of…" Robert paused and gesticulated with his hands, "_welcome wagon,_ because Amanda was your mother is fucking bullshit! No one wants you here! No one wants a murderer in their house, and that's what you are, you and that mother fucker you call a father. She made the biggest mistake of her life marrying that Vulcan. We all told her so, and look? It ended up costing her that life!" the human paused again as if to consider something. "Is that enough _clarification_, Spock?" Robert finished sarcastically and sauntered up to him until they were nose to nose. For a moment, the Vulcan was sure that Robert would strike him.

Spock blinked at him, and fought for the courage to speak. He had not been expecting this, and therefore did not know how to react. His head pounded vigorously due to the influx of such strong emotions, and there was a cold twisting feeling in his side that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

"What, nothing to say?" his uncle furthered when no response was forthcoming.

"I…I apologize for coming here, it was not my intention to cause trouble," Spock settled for. He was not ready to have this argument. He lacked the energy and the courage for it. He wanted to lie down and forget the glaring truth his uncle had just laid out for him.

"You've been causing trouble since the day you were brought into this world, now get the fuck off my porch," Robert seethed, turned around, opened the door and walked through it without a backward glance. The deafening bang of the door slamming shut caused Spock to wince in pain as the sound cut right into his head, and caused his migraine to scream all the more loudly in protest.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there on the front porch staring at the closed door, and he was barely aware of picking up his bags and walking back out onto the sidewalk, away from the house. He should have anticipated his uncle being there. He should have prepared himself for an altercation with him. What had he expected to happen? Did he expect for his uncle to welcome him into the house with open arms?

Perhaps, a small part of him had wanted to expect that, but Spock should have known it was foolish to want for such a thing, and as he walked to the end of the street and away from the neighborhood he had once known in his youth, he couldn't help but feel stupid for believing it could have been any other way.

((oOo))

The walk back into the city was longer and colder than the walk out of it, in Spock's opinion. Not only had his luggage become overwhelming given the frigidness of his hands due to the cold, but his thoughts had continued to weigh heavily on his mind as well. Thoughts of the past, thoughts of the present, and mainly, thoughts of his future had become almost as strong as his chronic migraine in the sense of the discomfort they caused him.

Almost.

By the time he found himself back in the heart and bustle of Jersey City, it had become harder and harder to suppress the growing pressure in his chest as well as his head. It was a pressure so strong that Spock wished he could just relieve it with a knife.

With every step the sharp pain he had become so familiar with increased in intensity as it scraped across the inside of his skull. It was so potent that Spock was finding it increasingly difficult to remain standing, and already his vision was starting to blur while the sounds from the city around him meshed and collided together.

He needed to find a place to sit before that option was no longer available.

When the Vulcan spotted through blurred eyes an empty city bench up ahead, he almost sighed in relief as he headed straight for it. He couldn't stop himself from bumping into varying pedestrians who cursed at him for his hastiness, and when he finally arrived at the bench, he all but let his bags drop onto the concrete so that he could finally sit down and cradle his head in his hands.

His head had not ever hurt to this degree, and for a moment, Spock was so disoriented that he wasn't even aware of the moans of pain escaping him. What had caused it? What had brought it on? Had it been his uncle? Or something else?

_Why did the truth hurt so much? _Spock thought sullenly to himself as he back tracked over everything Robert had told him.

In addition to the assaulting head pain, Spock's chest and side continued to constrict with what he assumed was a byproduct of the emotions cascading through his mind as the conversation replayed again and again. They had obviously escalated to such a high degree so as to cause impairment toward other aspects of his body, and why? Why had the reunion with his uncle made him feel this way? Had Spock not always known the way his uncle felt about him? Why would hearing his uncle's harsh, cruel words cause him to react so emotionally? He had not felt this way since that last conversation with Jim.

"Sir? Are you okay?" a concerned, female voice asked from beside him, though it sounded like it was miles away.

"I am fine," he answered, or, thought he had answered, because a second later she was repeating the same question, this time with more concern and alarm.

"Sir? Can you hear me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone?" she probed again, and went so far as to place a supporting hand on his back.

Instantly Spock flinched away from the hand that, unknowingly to her, caused his head to protest sharply at the contact. Her concern was flowing off of her as well as her worry, and his unguarded mind was spared nothing. It had been a while since he'd felt emotions of such nature aimed toward him, but at the moment Spock could not afford to feel anyone's emotions, not even his own. It had become too painful. It was consuming him. He felt as if he were drowning.

"Please…please do not touch me," Spock managed to breathe out; his head still buried in his hands in an attempt to relieve the growing pressure. His words must have been audible this time because she immediately removed her hand from his back as soon as the words left his mouth. He could still feel her emotions, but they were not as loud in his mind as they had been moments before.

"I'm going to call someone," she informed him determinedly, and that was more than enough to force his head back up to peer at her, to keep her from doing such a thing. Spock knew if she called anyone, it would be the hospital and that was the last place he wanted to find himself. He did not have insurance for a doctor yet, and he definitely did not have the credits to pay for an emergency visit, which would be fruitless anyway. No human doctor would be able to help him.

No one could help him.

"That," Spock started before he was forced to take a deep breath. "That, would be…unnecessary, ma'am. There is…nothing…nothing wrong with me," Spock finished with difficulty, and looked into the other's eyes. It was shameful how good of a liar he was.

The woman beside him appeared to be human, and if he had to estimate, he would say she was in her thirties. Her auburn hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and on the ground beside Spock's own luggage sat an assortment of bags from varying retail stores. The woman had obviously been shopping when she happened upon him, and had then dropped her merchandise to assist him on the bench. Spock had to admit, as shameful as it was, it was nice having someone care about him in such away again, even if she was just trying to be polite. It had been so long that he had started to forget what such a thing felt like despite his perfect memory. To have someone interrupt their own endeavors to make sure he was well just because they wanted to was something he had not expected to happen ever again.

"Your nose is bleeding, sir," the woman commented in a quiet but shocked voice, and then eyed his nose with worry. Spock had not been aware that his nose had started bleeding again, but sure enough, when he looked down to his hands that had just moments ago been cradling his face and forehead, green blood was smeared across them. In the span of two seconds, three more drops of dark blood landed on his hands and even some managed its way onto the concrete. Apparently, it was still bleeding.

"Hold on a sec," the woman stated just before she turned and disappeared into her purse. Spock watched through pain-filled eyes as she rummaged through the small bag, obviously looking for something. Despite the pain though, watching her gave him something to focus on, and already the pressure in his side and head was starting to disappear; his migraine already seemed to be lessening in its intensity. Fascinating.

The migraine was not gone, but at least now Spock could think again without the irrational weight of the pain influencing his awareness and making him feel disoriented.

"Ah, here we go," the woman announced in satisfaction while pulling out a tissue package and opening it. She smiled at him. "I always carry some with me. Here, tilt your head down. I know they tell you to lean back, but that's the worst thing you can do," she instructed him in a motherly tone. Spock found himself obeying instantly.

She made a satisfied sound while placing a generous amount of the tissues under his nose. "Hold that," she added, and again, Spock found himself obeying. His hand replaced hers as he leaned his body forward and away from the bench so that he could drop his head more comfortably. He permitted himself to sit like that for another two minutes and surprisingly, the woman stayed behind to watch him. Why? Spock could not fathom. Perhaps she just wanted to ensure that his nose stopped bleeding before leaving him. Perhaps she felt obligated to do so.

When he was confident that the bleeding had ceased, he tilted his head up again, retracted the tissue, and almost sighed in relief when he did not feel any warm liquid seeping down onto his lips. Spock was not averse to the warmth given how he was, but he did not want to the source to be his own blood.

"You okay now?" the woman probed him warily, her eyes scanning him over like he might fall off of the bench.

Clenching the bloodied tissue in his fist so that it was out of sight, Spock turned his body toward her, and inclined his head. "I am adequate, ma'am. I thank you for providing me with assistance," he answered her gently, hoping he was conveying his gratefulness in his tone. Sometimes when he wished to convey such things for the benefit of humans, it did not come across the way he had imagined it. It was definitely something he was going to have to work on since he was permanently on Earth, and around human beings that might not be familiar with the speaking patterns of Vulcans.

This time however, was not one of those times judging by the smile on her fair face. "It was no trouble, I'm just glad that you seem to be okay. I'm a nurse at Bellevue Hospital in New York," she started cheerily before frowning. "I don't know much about Vulcans. I confess I haven't really had a chance to work around them much despite wanting to eventually get into Starfleet, but I do know they don't usually get nosebleeds." She narrowed her eyes in seriousness before continuing. "If those keep happening, I would get them looked at. I would also get yourself some gloves and a hat. It's pretty cold here, and I know your species don't fare well in the cold," she finished pointedly before straightening out her pastel colored coat and endeavoring to collect her varying bags.

Spock resisted the urge to assure her that she was not him, and therefore could not make a sound judgment on what he would or would not do in regards to his health, or in regards to his attire, but he didn't think it would be very polite. And, she _had _just helped him for no benefit to herself at all. At least she actually seemed to care what he wore.

"I will consider your advice. Thank you again for your assistance," Spock settled for, and tilted his head in appreciation.

She smiled at him again; a large radiant smile only enhanced by the auburn hair that hung about her shoulders. "You're welcome Mr…" she let her voice trail off in the form of a question. A strategy to learn his name, Spock surmised.

He hesitated half a second in giving her that name. So far, he had been met only with disdain when people found out who he was because of either his heritage, or the dishonorable discharge marring his record if they were a prospective employer. This woman had been so cordial to him. Spock did not wish to encourage her to regret aiding him. He did not think his battered mind at the moment would be able to handle more negative emotions directly relating to him.

However, she had asked him his name, and Spock could not very well ignore the query, no matter what the resulting emotions were. "My name is Spock," he said softly and quietly while turning his eyes onto the retail store directly in front of him; a store specializing in the sale of footwear. He had averted his eyes away from hers so that he would not have to witness the look of recognition on her face, which would then surely be followed by another expression of indifference.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Spock. My name is Amber Beckinsale," the woman, Amber, answered him genuinely and without a hint of the disdain that Spock had expected. The Vulcan almost sighed in relief when emotions of surprise, and then general happiness flitted into his unshielded mind. Obviously, she did not regret helping him after all.

Spock sharply turned his head to study her expressions; to gauge if his tattered mind was receiving her emotions correctly. Humans were notorious for wearing their emotions on their faces. However, there wasn't any disdain there either. Amber, it seemed, was genuinely pleased to meet him.

"It is a pleasure making your acquaintance, Miss Beckinsale," Spock answered her and stood up from the bench. His disorientation had dropped down to a manageable level, and he felt that he should stand if he was to assure the woman that he was indeed functional.

Amber stood with him. "Please, Mr. Spock. Call me Amber," she corrected him warmly and leaned down to pick up her bags.

"Very well, Amber," Spock amended.

Amber smiled again, this time flashing her teeth in the sunlight, and hugged her shopping bags closer to her. "Well, I won't take up any more of your time, but since I'm actually getting the chance to meet you in person, I…" she paused and stepped closer to him. "I just want to thank you for what you did last year, you know, when you saved Earth with Captain Kirk? None of us would be here if it hadn't been for you and him."

Spock blinked at her. Citizens had never thanked him for his involvement with the _Narada _incident. Jim had always been the one to receive such sentiment because he was the Captain. It had never bothered Spock, despite Jim always taking the time to point out Spock's involvement to whoever had taken the time to thank him. He had not helped Jim steal back the red matter, rescue Captain Pike, and destroy Nero's ship to receive gratitude. But, Spock could not deny that hearing his actions aboard the Enterprise acknowledged so appreciatively was…nice. It reminded him that there had been a time when he had done some things right.

"Thank you, Amber," he finally managed softly, and she giggled at his continued stoicism.

"Well, goodbye, Mr. Spock."

Spock held up the hand not containing the bloodied tissue, and parted his fingers in the Vulcan _ta'al_. "Live long and prosper," he stated, and watched as she and her assortment of shopping bags walked on down the sidewalk, around the corner, and eventually out of sight.

Errantly, Spock wondered if he would see her again in New York City. He could not help wishing that maybe he would.

**A.N. Yes, another angsty chapter, especially with Spock's shitty uncle. I would love to know your thoughts, especially since we're about to see Spock in New York City and starting his new job. What does everyone think of Robert? Also, occasionally I like to get a specific opinion out of the audience if they feel like sharing. I would politely ask if everyone could tell me what the most painful/angsty moment in this fic has been for them so far? I did this with my other story, and it made for some interesting responses that spurred a lot of conversation. **

**Till next time! Thanks for reading! **


	15. Get Back On My Feet Again

**A.N. Happy Sunday everyone! Managed to get this one out on time, despite the utter monster it turned into while editing it. This chapter is a doozy, folks. It comes in roughly at about 19k, so I hope you have allotted some time to get through it. I want to thank the outpouring of support in the last chapter. As always, I love reading y'all's lovely reviews, especially the really long ones. If you can discern from my chapter lengths, I like the long stuff XD, so never be afraid of putting a novel in a review, hehe. (DivaPammy, if you're reading this AN, thank you soooo much for your review earlier this week. It really meant a lot to me)**

**I'm not using a beta for this story, so all grammatical mistakes are my own. Also, I apologize for any inaccurate depictions of New York City I might have in this chapter. I'm a native Texan, and sadly, I haven't been out of the South, so my knowledge of it is purely from an academic stand point. But Rubyhair has been very helpful in helping me create a believable New York I hope. Also, I will be broaching more financial aspects in this chapter. Specifically wage information, pay scale information, ect, and I'm pretty much mirroring the financial aspects of our own century, but using credits instead of dollars. Honestly, it will probably be different in the actual 23****rd**** century, but for the sake of simplicity and a want to make Spock's financial situation as understandable as possible, that's how I'm interpreting it. No one knows what the economy will be like in the 23****rd**** century, so really, it's anyone's game, right?**

**See notes at the end regarding this chapter! Also, don't own Trek! But the OC's are mine. **

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Get Back On My Feet Again**

Despite not being a long distance from one another; Manhattan, New York was vastly different than Jersey City. Spock had never been to New York, and while he had been able to see its towering skyscrapers as he had walked the streets of Jersey City, that was nothing compared to actually being in the middle of them within New York itself. Spock had seen tall buildings back on Vulcan, and he had also seen them in San Francisco. He had even seen similar structures on some of the planets he had visited over the years. But he had never seen so many skyscrapers all clustered together in one area.

The skyscrapers were not the only things that fascinated him though. Spock had never seen so many lights all gathered together in one city either. He had not noticed the lights while he was in Jersey City because the sun had still been up. But given that it had gotten dark by the time he had arrived in Manhattan, those lights stood out blindingly all around the Vulcan. Whether they belonged to an advertisement billboard, a building, a hover taxi, or just the street lights, they were everywhere the Vulcan looked. It was definitely a sight to behold, and if his head wasn't hurting so much from the immense crowd that seemed to be pushing and shoving past him as he walked along the noisy sidewalk, he might have taken a moment to study such a grand sight. Errantly, he wondered if Jim had ever seen a city such as this.

Before Spock could provide a guess for his internal question regarding his former Captain, an Andorian came shoving past Spock, nearly knocking him off the sidewalk in the process.

"Watch where you're going!" the Andorian yelled vehemently, glared at him, and continued on his way. Spock winced as the alien's anger seared across his mind, and it took him a full minute to compose himself amongst the chronic crowd. However, as much as Spock detested the crowd, he knew he would have to get used to it. New York was the most populated city in the world, and infamous for harboring citizens with quite a bit of bitterness and animosity like the Andorian that had nearly just pushed him into the street.

Manhattan—which was one of the five boroughs of New York—just happened to be the most densely populated section of the most populated area in the world. That was quite unfortunate for Spock, because it meant that he would have to be around even more people; more unshielded, emotional minds. There was nothing for it though. _Barton and Co. Repairs_ was located in Manhattan, and it was only logical to attempt to stay as close as possible to where he was going to be working. He could not afford cab fare at the moment, and given the dire temperatures and the insufficient clothing he donned, Spock could not afford to walk terribly long distances either. That walk through Jersey City a couple of hours prior had left him stiff and numb from the cold, and both his legs had taken on an ache. He did not relish attempting such a walk again. Hopefully, he would find a hotel relatively soon. He was beyond exhausted.

After almost two hours of attempting to find an affordable hotel to stay though, the Vulcan realized that everything in Manhattan was extremely too far out of his price range. It seemed that this particular part of New York was not only the most populated, but also the wealthiest. And according to the rates of every hotel he stopped at, all of them were quite privy to that fact. This was unfortunate for Spock, because it meant that he would not be staying in Manhattan after all.

Given these new circumstances, Spock found himself walking to the closest borough to Manhattan, which was The Bronx. One good thing about all of this was that _Barton and Co. Repairs_ was in the northern most part of Manhattan, which meant that The Bronx was not too far away from it. Perhaps he would still be able to keep his wish for a short walking distance.

The entire journey there the Vulcan endeavored to pull his coat as close to himself as possible given the frigid night air. He knew that he would inevitably be forced to purchase a hat, scarf, and gloves. It was simply too cold for his Vulcan physiology, and he had been foolish to think he could withstand this on a long term basis. As a result of his desperate wish to be warm, Spock tried to walk as quickly as possible. Not only did he want to get in and out of the cold as soon as possible, but his haste was also caused by some of the errant emotions he managed to pick up along the way.

The majority of the emotions he felt were somewhat disturbing and questionable in their nature. Spock could identify some of them from experience, but a fraction of the emotions he picked up on were a complete mystery. No one on the Enterprise had ever exhibited such feelings.

Then again, everyone the Enterprise has been required to pass a psyche eval. The people that passed him on the sidewalk, had not, and it only seemed to become worse the later it became. When Spock passed a rather suspicious looking group of young men, one of them belonging to a race that Spock could not identify without further inspection, it was suddenly not a big question as to why the crime rate in New York was still one of the highest on Earth. There was no doubt in his mind that _those_ young men were planning on committing some kind of crime, and Spock did not wish to be involved in it, or anywhere near it.

Quickly the Vulcan made to pass them; all the while being careful to avoid their stare as they lingered around one another talking obscenely. Some of them had their eyes trained on him as he walked, and Spock tightened his fists around his luggage when his back became exposed, and therefore, vulnerable. When they were finally out of sight and earshot, he exhaled in relief. He couldn't help but be grateful that he had decided to sell his PADD back in Jersey City. If he had not, then he doubted he would have had the credits to find a hotel to stay at without compromising his upcoming payment to Starfleet. The mere thought of sleeping on the same street as that group of men sent a shiver down his spine. A shiver that shamed him in its intensity. When had he become this fearful? This wary of defending himself?

_When have you ever been able to defend yourself?_

Spock ignored the belittling thought and continued on. It served no purpose to think such things. Fortunately, the collar of his newly purchased coat was long enough to where it could go up past his ears; effectively hiding them. This meant that he did not attract as many stares during the remainder of his quest for a room, and for that, he was grateful. It was nice to fade into the night crowd and not be the center of it. It was nice to feel invisible once again.

Spock had only been in The Bronx twenty minutes before he finally found a hotel that he could afford. The hotel itself was in questionable shape, and it didn't appear very sanitary, but there was nowhere else he could go. And given his other option, which was to sleep outside, Spock would gladly take a squalid hotel room two times over. At least he would not freeze to death, or be robbed or assaulted in a hotel room. At least he would be alone, which meant he would be safe.

Once Spock had acquired his room key from the man at the front desk who never even made eye contact with him, he set off down the hallway. This time, he elected to sleep on the ground floor so he could avoid the stairwells, and thusly, a possible confrontation on them. Aside from a bickering couple standing out in the corridor, Spock had little trouble in getting to his room; Room 14A.

Once inside, Spock quickly shut the door behind him, locked it, and walked to the center of the room to set his bags down. He then stood there a moment to take in his new surroundings. The room, just like the rest of the hotel, did not look very sanitary, and there was a foul odor emanating from somewhere that Spock could not identify. On the dresser to the right of him sat an old model holoplayer, and the bathroom was off to the left of the room. The bed was a couple of feet in front of him and adorned with a brown comforter and two brown pillows to match. While the bed appeared to be clean, Spock was reluctant to actually sleep in it. The last bed he'd slept in had made him itchy the next day, and he had no cause to think that this bed would be any different. In fact, he wasn't even sure he wanted to unpack his clothes. They were probably better off in the suitcase.

Deciding that he should at least unpack his toiletries bag, Spock picked his bags back up and walked to the bed where he set them down again. He had just unzipped the bag containing his toiletries when directly above him, he heard the loud but muffled sounds of two people arguing much like the couple he had encountered out in the corridor.

He sighed.

Spock had been hoping for peace and quiet. He had been hoping to possibly even try and meditate, but with that constantly above him, he knew it would be impossible.

Once he had acquired his toiletries bag, Spock set off toward the bathroom; wary of what he might find inside of it. As he walked, a loud bang reverberated from the ceiling, which probably meant some kind of object had been thrown out of some emotional need to exhibit anger. Spock was not surprised. He had heard these sounds at the last hotel he had been at. He had even once thrown an object out of anger. Honestly, he could not begrudge another individual for doing the same thing.

The bathroom was just like the bedroom. Unsanitary. However, this did not stop Spock from taking out his tooth brush and proceeding to clean his teeth. His stomach growled in the midst of it, but the Vulcan ignored it. True, he had not eaten today yet; and despite the fact that this morning he had told himself he would eat, that he _needed _to eat, Spock had no future plans to do so before the day was out.

His stomach might be trying desperately to convince him otherwise, but Spock had made up his mind. Even if he was hungry after a long day of walking, obtaining sustenance meant going back out into the New York streets to get it. It meant going back out into the cold, into the crowds, and into possible danger. One more night of not eating wouldn't be so bad in the face of those risks.

Or, at least that's what Spock told himself as he came back into the bedroom, his stomach twisting and churning the entire way. The people above him were still arguing diligently, but Spock ignored it as he unpacked his meditation mat, and laid it out onto the floor. His mat would be his bed tonight and probably for the duration of his stay. It did not matter how much he wished for the comfort of a bed, he just could not bring himself to inhabit the one that had been provided for him. Especially since he still was not sure where the foul odor was coming from.

Once the mat had been situated just beside the bed, another wave of exhaustion overcame the Vulcan, and this time it did not leave him. Despite not having changed yet, Spock found himself lying down on his side with his hands folded underneath his cheek in support. He had no pillow that he trusted, so his hands would have to do. He left the light on, and turned his body so that he could watch the door as had become a habit for him since Altriri IV. The argument above him raged on as Spock fought for sleep, and his last thoughts before his eyelids finally closed, was that he was glad he'd purchased a coat, because at least it was capable of serving as a blanket for him.

However, when his nightmares came for him, Spock could not rely on the security of his new coat when S'teth came waltzing into the room, into his subconscious, and ripped it off of him with ease. Nothing could ever protect him from the High Priest. Whatever the Altririan wanted, he took. And Spock, in his nightmares, would always give him what he wanted.

((oOo))

The next day Spock was disappointed when he awoke with an aching back as well as an aching mind. His stomach felt like it had eaten itself sometime during the night, and he knew he would have to eat today at some point. The first thing he needed to do though was comm his new employer. He hadn't done it last night because the hour had been too late, but now there was nothing stopping him.

Sitting up, Spock grabbed his temple as a wave of dizziness overcame him and waited patiently for it to pass. Once it did, he twisted his back to work out a kink, and stood himself up. Another wave of dizziness overcame him, but he ignored it and went to his bag to pull out the communicator. Looking at his information for his new employer, Spock dialed the number.

"What," a bored voice answered on the third chime. Spock's eyebrow rose. Obviously, he had been given a personal number since most companies answered introducing their company by name. Or maybe it was worse. Perhaps his new employer was not a very professional man, and this was how he answered his communicator all the time.

"Is this Mr. Wesley?" Spock chanced. He did not know the man's last name. Perhaps he had been given the wrong information.

"Yeah, this is he," the man replied, confirming that yes, Spock _had _been given the correct information.

"Am I correct in the fact that you are the manager for _Barton and Co. Repairs?_" Spock asked professionally, and was thankful that the argument that had taken place above him last night had apparently ceased in the morning hours.

Suddenly the man on the other end became utterly professional. "Uh, yes sir. Yes sir, this is Wesley Crawford. I'm the general manager at the Manhattan branch's repair division. How can I help you?"

"Mr. Crawford. My name is Spock. I have recently relocated from San Francisco to fill an open position at your store. Mr. Glanstein informed me that I should contact you when I arrived," Spock answered and began walking slowly back and forth in his room. Why he felt the need to busy himself with pacing while talking over the communicator, he did not know. It was yet another habit he had picked up.

"Oh yeah!" Wesley exclaimed eagerly, making Spock pull the communicator slightly away from his ear. "So you're the Vulcan that Marty told me he was shipping up here? The one that deserted the Fleet?" he furthered, making Spock frown as a result. For a moment, he merely stood there in silence. He had not expected the man to be so forward or blunt about his status with Starfleet.

His silence didn't go unnoticed. "I looked up your file once Marty told me the news. But don't worry, that kind of information isn't available to anyone but the management," Wesley explained as if this was all the assurance Spock needed.

"In response to your first query, you are correct. I am Vulcan," Spock answered stiffly, and carefully skirted around the reference to his history with Starfleet. He would rather not talk so casually about that part of his life, and especially about the dishonorable discharge that Jim had given to him.

Fortunately, Mr. Crawford seemed to take the hint, and didn't linger on the subject. "Well that's good news! I have to say, we've needed someone for awhile now. You couldn't have come at a better time," he stated gleefully before continuing in a more serious tone of voice. "I know Martin told you that you would be starting about four days from now, but if it's possible, can I get you to come in tomorrow morning at seven? I could really use someone as soon as possible. I understand if you can't, of course."

Spock sat up straighter. "I find that acceptable, Mr. Crawford. Is there specific attire, or a specific uniform I am expected to wear?" the Vulcan asked, and tried hard to keep the eagerness out of his voice. The sooner he could start working, the sooner he could start making credits, which he would need if he would be required to purchase his own uniform.

Mr. Crawford laughed at the question, much to Spock's bemusement, before answering. "We will provide a uniform for you, Mr. Spock. No need to show up in those fancy Vulcan clothes. Just bring your ID with you so we can get you in our system. I'll see you in the morning, and thanks again for starting early."

"No thanks are necessary. I will see you tomorrow morning at 0700 hours, Mr. Crawford," Spock replied stoically, which garnered yet another chuckle.

"Alright. See ya' tomorrow then," the man replied before cutting the connection.

For a moment Spock sat there wondering what his new uniform would look like, and just how different it was going to be from the blue science tunic he had worn when he'd been a Commander. At least if he was being provided with one, he would not have to spend extra credits on clothing he could really not afford. Especially when he still had to purchase more winter attire to protect himself from the northern climate.

After forcing himself to take a shower, Spock dressed quickly and made his way out of the hotel. The freezing air that hit him once he'd walked out onto the sidewalk told him just what his first order of business needed to be. He needed to find gloves, a scarf, and a hat.

Since it was daytime, it was much harder to hide his appearance in the collar of his coat, and as a result, he garnered many stares as he walked along the street in search of a reasonable clothing store.

_"Holy shit, is that a Vulcan?"_

_ "I could've sworn there was a law for them that they all had to procreate on their new planet or something." _

_ "He looks kind of like that Commander Spock on the Enterprise, doesn't he? You know, the one that recently resigned?" _

Those were just a few of the things Spock overheard as he weaved in and out of people, his hands shoved firmly into his pockets to keep them from touching other people in addition to protecting them from the cold. Spock was not unused to being talked and speculated about. He had heard it on Vulcan as a child and even as an adult. He had heard it at the Academy. He had heard it on the Enterprise, and here on Earth, he was obviously going to hear it all again. There was nothing he could do about it, so the logical thing to do was not to worry himself about it.

Fortunately, Spock managed to find a store that sold clothing at a cheap price, and he couldn't help but feel slightly better as he walked out of the store, his head and ears covered by a new, knitted navy blue winter hat, his hands covered by navy blue, knitted gloves, and his neck, a navy blue knitted scarf. It had been cheaper to buy them as a set, so that is what Spock had done.

Despite still not being as warm as he would have liked, he couldn't deny that having the extra protection was far better than having none at all. Plus, with a hat on, no one could see his ears, or the upward curve of his eyebrows. He no longer looked like a Vulcan. He was invisible again.

That complete, Spock decided that he needed to find sustenance next. It didn't take him long to seek out the nearest grocery store, and once he was inside he was slightly overwhelmed by all the choices available to him. He had never been in a grocery store before. When he had been a cadet, he had eaten in the Academy's cafeteria. As a Professor, he had also eaten there, and had also had a food replicator in his Starfleet issued apartment. Therefore, the need to visit a local grocery store had never arisen. Even over the past few weeks, Spock had not ventured inside of one. What food he had eaten he had obtained from vending machines scattered about San Francisco.

However, he knew vending machines did not supply food designed for long term consumption, and being that Dr. McCoy was no longer here to force him to do the _healthy _thing, Spock knew he had to take responsibility for it himself. He could tell he was already starting to lose more weight, given that his pants were looser now than they had been when he left the Enterprise. Despite the small part of him that simply did not care, the part that would be perfectly content with walking off the nearest bridge and ending it all, there was still another part of him that yearned to become healthy again. A part that yearned to move past this seemingly immovable wall that had rooted itself in his life and become something more.

That part was why he was now taking the first step and walking up and down the aisles; a small basket in his hand as he placed chosen items (most of them food items that had been on sale) inside. When he walked out of the grocery store twenty three minutes later, he had three apples, two cans of green beans, two cans of spinach, a package of disposable utensils and bowls, and a jar of sugar free peanut butter. It was definitely not something that McCoy would have chosen for him. (Well, aside from the peanut butter) But it was better than nothing, and they were all items he could store in his hotel room with relative ease.

He had intended on walking back to Manhattan to find _Barton and Co. Repairs_ so that he could make sure he would be able to find it adequately the next morning. But given the trip to the clothing store, the trip to the grocery store, and the relentless exposure to the varying people on the sidewalk, Spock found that his head simply could not bear any further traveling. It upset him, as he walked back to the hotel, that his weakness was forcing him to hide himself. A Vulcan would be able to walk on a street with no problem at all, yet he could not. What was he going to do when he started working? He could not simply walk out and retire to his room in the middle of a shift because of his migraines. Such a thing would likely result in termination. Therefore, Spock knew he would have to find a way to work through this chronic problem.

But…not today.

He would work on it tomorrow. Today, he just wanted solitude. He just wanted warmth from this bitter cold all around him.

Back at the hotel, Spock hung his coat, hat, gloves and scarf in the closet, and took one of the cans of green beans, emptied a fourth of it into one of the disposable bowls he'd purchased, and sat at the desk that had been provided with the room to eat the first meal he'd eaten in almost a week. The green beans were cold and bland, but they served their purpose. He had accomplished what he'd said he would do anyway. He'd eaten.

After he cleaned up his mess, Spock pondered attempting to meditate, but pushed the idea away instantly. He had already failed at one thing today. He didn't want to add to the list. Instead, he turned on the holoplayer, sat on the floor with his back to the bed, and flipped through the varying channels until he came to the news. The people upstairs started arguing again, so Spock turned the volume up.

The program was a local news station discussing the latest developments in possible wage increases for health care workers across the hospitals in New York City. Spock was mostly disinterested until he heard Bellevue Hospital mentioned as one of the hospitals that would be undergoing the changes. He immediately thought of the woman he'd met in Jersey City, the woman named Amber Beckinsale. He remembered her kindness and willingness to help him at no benefit to her. He remembered her expression of gratitude for what he and Jim had done aboard the Enterprise a year prior, and he wondered if perhaps he would see her again being that Bellevue was a hospital in Manhattan. Hopefully, if he did see her again, it wouldn't be as a patient at the hospital because that was the last situation he needed to be in.

A shout loud enough to vibrate the ceiling broke Spock's concentration on the news program, and he clenched his eyes shut with a gasp as an errant surge of anger hit him. But the anger did not belong to him. The anger, Spock suspected, was coming from upstairs, from the arguing people. Apparently, it had been strong enough for his unshielded mind to pick up on even though there was an entire floor between them.

And suddenly, Spock was angry too. He'd thought he would find peace in his room. He had been wrong. Even here, he could not escape the emotions of others, and what angered him the most was that he should be able to.

Another surge of anger, this one stronger than the last, pounded into him and made him whimper in pain. Unable to take the sounds of the holoplayer any longer, Spock quickly shut it off and began taking a series of deep breaths; his fingers placed delicately on his temple. His mind had already felt so much today, and obviously it was not keen on feeling anything else that didn't originate with Spock.

His first instinct was to leave his room and find another isolated place to just sit for a while until the migraine dulled down. But where? Where could he go in New York City that would be isolated? Nowhere. There was nowhere to go. In accepting this job, a job that didn't even pay him adequately, Spock had put himself in the most populated city in the world.

What had he been thinking?

An overwhelming sense of dread overtook him at the mere thought of what he had possibly gotten himself into, and his second idea was to flee to the rooftop of the building. Up there would be about as far away as he could get without having to leave the city. But again, he couldn't do that. Given how cold it was outside, he would likely become ill like he'd done back on the Enterprise when he'd taken the cold shower. Only, there was no Dr. McCoy here to bring him back to health should that occur. Plus, if he did get sick, then his first day at work would be ruined.

_Kaiidth, Spock. You are here now and you cannot leave. You cannot afford to leave even if you wished to. You have made this decision. You must live with it. Endure. What is, is, and cannot be changed, _he told himself diligently as waves of pain shot through his skull, and caused him to grit his teeth. It was only a matter of time before the nosebleed hit him.

And sure enough, an hour later with no relief, the nosebleed came like it always seemed to do. Quickly Spock went into the bathroom to clean himself up, and made sure to take a towel back into the room with him incase he should need one again. It was still a bit early, but as there was nothing else to do, nowhere else to go, Spock decided to put his coat back on and lay himself down on the mat. Perhaps if he could manage to sleep, the migraine would slowly diminish, and he wouldn't be awake for it. Yes, he knew what awaited him in his sleep, but again, there was nothing for it. Sleep was logical. He needed to sleep.

However. He couldn't get to sleep.

Despite the people above him ceasing their argument not long after Spock had decided to retire for the evening, barely two hours later they began to engage in _other_ activities. Sexual activities that, oddly enough, proved to be much more audible and distracting than their chronic arguing had been. Their infectious anger never left, but instead grew to include lust as well, and with every pleasured and pain-filled scream exhibited by them, Spock attempted to sink lower and lower into the floor, his head pounding with every intermittent bang from the ceiling above. It disheartened him, that even in his waking hours where S'teth could not get to him, he still could not escape the things that reminded him so strongly of the Altririan.

And, they were things that shouldn't remind him of S'teth. Spock should be able to lie there on his mat without growing so upset by the activities going on above him. They were normal activities, were they not? Sexual intercourse was an important—and amongst the majority of humans, enjoyable and popular—part of life. Just because his own experiences had been horrific and as far away from pleasurable as it could get, Spock could not expect the rest of the world to cease engaging in copulation for his own comfort and benefit.

However, despite constantly repeating that argument to himself, Spock couldn't keep the acts going on above him from bothering him, or making his head hurt all the worse. Even long after the floor above him had gone quiet, indicating that finally the tenants had likely gone to sleep, Spock still stayed awake. He knew he needed sleep. He knew he needed to try and quell the migraine into a tolerable throb before the next morning came, but he did not wish to enter into his own warped version of sexual intercourse so soon after lying there and listening to what had gone on above him. For one night, he just wanted to be free of the High Priest. For _one _night, he wanted to pretend that S'teth had never existed.

Perhaps the migraine was worth such a thing.

((oOo))

The next morning Spock got up long before his chronometer had been scheduled to go off. He wasn't sleeping anyway, so lying on his mat and staring at the ceiling seemed rather pointless. Plus, past a certain point, it had become painful on his back and neck, which again, was unusual. His joints had never been of the weak sort; especially on Earth with the differing gravity. In fact, as a Vulcan, Spock should be able to withstand sitting or lying in a prone position for a lengthy amount of time. After all, that was what his people did during the act of meditation, was it not? But over the past month, Spock had to admit that his muscles and joints had started to ache more easily and with little provocation. And if the long walks through the city had proven anything, they did not have the endurance they once had had. What had caused the declination? Spock was not quite sure. And really, with the rest of his body and his mind falling apart, it was only fitting that his joints and muscles follow that same lead.

Given that fact, it really was not all that surprising after all.

After forcing himself to consume one of the apples he had purchased, Spock chose to wear one of the outfits he'd acquired for his interviewing process for his first day. Mr. Crawford had informed him that a uniform would be provided, but he still wished to appear as professional as possible. His mother had once told him that a first impression was everything.

That complete, Spock brushed his teeth, combed his hair which was starting to grow much longer than he was used to wearing it, and also shaved. It would not do to appear at _Barton and Co. Repairs_ with stubble on his jaw. After giving himself one more look over, Spock put his coat, his hat, his gloves, and his scarf on, and proceeded out of the hotel just as the arguing upstairs started up again.

He was supposed to report to Mr. Crawford at 0700 hours, but Spock calculated he would arrive there by 0600 instead. He knew he would be early, but he honestly couldn't bear to stay in his hotel room any longer. Add to that the fact that given the time of morning, the sidewalks were not nearly as busy as they were during the day, and with his migraine still attacking him relentlessly given his lack of sleep, Spock wanted all the solitude he could get. It was dreadfully cold out, given the sun had yet to rise, and Spock couldn't help but watch in detached fascination as his breath took a foggy shape in front of him after each exhalation.

It had taken him thirty minutes to get from the hotel in The Bronx to the Manhattan address that had been provided for him. If he had left later, it likely would have taken him longer given that there would have been more people out and about, and crowding the sidewalks. He had obviously made a good decision in leaving early.

The building itself was at least three stories high, and attached on either side to two other buildings which were all likewise attached. Spock could make out all manner of businesses making up the street, and all of them with very different purposes ranging from simple retail, to private companies, to dining establishments. _Barton and Co. Repairs, _Spock noted, seemed to be the oldest building amongst the litany of buildings lining the street.

The lights inside were all on, signaling that someone was there. Spock was relieved by this because it meant he would not have to wait outside for Mr. Crawford to arrive. By coming as early as he had, there had been a large chance that such a complexity would have been the case. As Spock neared closer, he could just make out the inside of the establishment through the windows adorning the building, but it was not until he walked through the glass door that Spock was really able to take in his new work place.

The room that the front door opened up into was long and narrow, like much of the buildings in New York seemed to be. A loud, obnoxious genre of music seemed to be playing in the background, which did absolutely no favors for his migraine. Spock had never heard music quite like it before. It was as if a group of people had gathered together a percussion instrument, several guitars, and a vocalist with a severe throat problem ailing him, and ordered them to play something that made the least sense possible and in the loudest way imaginable. It was highly annoying, and Spock hoped he would not have to listen to it on a routine basis.

In addition to the overbearing music, there were varying tables and shelves that housed numerous electronic devices in all states of repair along the narrow room. Some of the items were new, and had flashing digital numbers out beside them to indicate their prices. Those items were obviously products that the company was endeavoring to sell. The rest of the items, Spock assumed, were in need of some kind of repair or perhaps had been donated.

The front desk, or, _check-out_ counter, was barely five feet in and directly on Spock's left. Behind it, stood an overweight human male dressed in a gray button up shirt with white stripes and a red patch on the chest that read: _Barton and Co. Repairs_. Underneath the company's name was what Spock assumed to be, the human's name; Harold. Errantly, Spock wondered if he would wear something similar.

The human, Harold—if the name on the patch was to be believed—appeared to be looking at information on a computer terminal whilst at the same time, eating some variation of breakfast food. His plump face sported a generous amount of stubble, and his greasy brown hair seemed to almost stick to the sides of his face. His head bobbed up and down to the music as he ate, and Spock was momentarily fascinated that the man could actually discern a rhythm from the song.

Despite the door closing audibly behind him, the man did not acknowledge Spock when he entered. Instead, he went on staring at the computer screen with a disinterested expression on his face as he bobbed his head up and down. This led Spock to the conclusion that he either _hadn't _noticed him yet, or, more than likely, just did not care.

Chancing himself further inside, Spock waited a few seconds to give the man a chance to acknowledge him before he decided to announce himself. "Excuse me, are you Mr. Crawford?" he asked loudly in an attempt to speak over the music, and halted when he was a foot from the desk. Judging by the name on the patch, this human was not Mr. Crawford, but by asking the query, Spock would be able to imply that that was who he wished to see.

However, the man still hadn't looked up, or acknowledged the question.

"Excuse me," Spock spoke in almost a yell.

The man heard him then, and finally looked up with annoyed eyes before pushing something on a controller next to him on the desk. Instantly the music quieted, much to Spock's relief. It was hard to imagine a being that would listen to such things. How did this human focus on anything while it played?

"Look, _guy_," Harold started disdainfully. "We're closed right now. Come back at nine," he finished in irritation, and went to grab the controller again.

Before he could turn that dreadful music back on though, Spock reiterated himself while removing his hat, scarf and gloves. "Are you Mr. Crawford?" he asked just as he pulled his knitted hat off.

Harold eyed his ears for a long moment before taking an exaggerated bite out of whatever grease filled item he was consuming. "Nope," he replied through the new mouthful of food. He then raised an eyebrow. "Are you the guy Wes just hired? He said you were a Vulcan, but I honestly thought he was fuckin' with me." This time, some of that food managed to find its way onto the man's chin. Spock wasn't sure what was worse; the profanity being exhibited by this human? Or his inability to keep his meal inside his oral cavity.

Spock fought the urge to encourage him to swallow all of his food before attempting to speak again. "My name is Spock, and I was hired by Mr. Glanstein in San Francisco, California to fill a position that is open at this location. I was informed to be here at 0700 hours by Mr. Wesley Crawford. I realize that I am forty six point two minutes early, and I apologize for inconveniencing you. I underestimated the time it would take to complete the journey," Spock explained stoically. Really though, he just hadn't wanted to linger in his hotel room any longer.

Harold snorted at his lengthy introduction and frowned. Spock felt an errant wave of disdain hit his mind; disdain this man obviously felt for him. "Great, not only do I have to fix computers all day, but now I have to listen to one as well…" he commented in contempt before rotating his head in an exaggerated manner toward the back of the store. "Mr. Crawford! Your uppity Vulcan is here!" he yelled before taking another generous bite out of the still unknown food source.

Spock ignored the various bigoted remarks. "May I inquire as to your name?" he asked as politely as possible. He wanted to make sure the name given on the red patch was correct.

The human glared at him. "The name is Harold, and don't think that just because you have pointed ears and some fancy Starfleet degree—yeah, I know who you are," Harold added just as Spock raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, don't think that you're going to just _waltz_ in here and replace me. I've been here five years now, and _no one _is replacing me," Harold finished scornfully, and before Spock could fashion a response, another man walked out from behind a tall shelving unit over encumbered with mechanical and electronic devices. Spock assumed that a door must have existed behind it that led to another section of the store.

"Mr. Spock, I presume?" the man inquired eagerly. Unlike the large, greasy man behind the desk, this human was considerably thinner, and sported the Terran form of a dress shirt with slacks to match. Instead of a red patch identifying the business as well as his name, this man instead wore a purple tie to complement his white shirt, and his hair was neatly trimmed. There were a few gray streaks in his hair, which indicated the man was likely middle-aged. Spock could not pick up any hostile or disdainful emotions emanating from him, and he illogical hoped that this man was Wesley Crawford on that fact alone.

"Affirmative. Are you Mr. Crawford?" Spock asked as he turned his body to face the newcomer. He could feel Harold's glare on him, and also his scornful emotions. However, Spock masked any discomfort that such emotions caused him. Despite the pain in his head never getting better, at least he was becoming more adept in hiding it from others as the weeks waged on.

"Yes, I'm Wesley Crawford, the general manager at this branch," Wesley Crawford started before frowning. "You're a little early, aren't you?" he asked, and the Vulcan didn't miss the faint hint of disappointment that flowed across the room and into his mind. Spock inwardly cursed himself. So much for the absence of negative emotions. He hadn't been at his new job five minutes, and already Spock was offending his superiors. He should have known not to arrive so early. He should have just stayed in his hotel room, or out in the street until the agreed upon time.

"I see now that I have erred. If you would prefer, I can leave and come back at the time we agreed upon the day prior," Spock offered apologetically. On the Enterprise, he had always shown up to his shift on the bridge twenty minutes early, and it had never been a cause for problem. In fact, usually the crewman he was relieving was ecstatic to be able to leave his post early. Obviously, that would not be the case on Earth. Then again, there were a lot of things that _weren't the case_ on Earth.

Surprise flitted through the man who automatically took a step closer. "No, it's fine! I was in the middle of something, but hey? The earlier the better, right? We can go ahead and get your paperwork out of the way," Wesley countered with a dismissive wave of his hand before meeting the eyes of his other employee. Spock noted that they narrowed slightly. "I see you've already met Harold, then?"

Harold snorted, but made no intelligible reply. Spock however, straightened up slightly and placed his hands behind his back. "Indeed, I have."

Wesley nodded in approval. "Good. Good. Okay then, follow me back here, we'll get you up and going. Hell, might even get you operating on the floor today! Marty's told me that you hold a class A-7 computer rating? That means we can skip past all the technical orientation mumbo-jumbo," his new manager stated eagerly while motioning for Spock to follow him to the back of the building.

"That is correct. I do hold a class A-7 computer rating," Spock answered simply, spared Harold another parting glance, and followed the man back behind the tall shelving unit and through another door which opened up into a cramped hallway. Before they could disappear through the door though, Wesley halted and turned back around; an annoyed expression on his face aimed just over Spock's shoulder. "Harold! I don't wanna hear any more of that death metal in here. I told you about that crap!" he yelled up to the front of the store. An incoherent grumbling was the reply, and Wesley sighed in irritation.

Spock felt his eyebrow rise yet again. Apparently, the atrocious music he had just been forced to listen to had an equally atrocious and illogical name.

Once they were in the hallway, and the door had closed, Wesley turned his head slightly to face him as he led the way. "I gotta tell ya', I've never met anyone with a computer rating that high. It's a shame you quit the Fleet, but I guess that's all the better for me. I have certainly needed some more skill around here, that's for sure," Wesley commented sourly, and Spock had to wonder if he was referring to the plump man currently manning the front desk. He definitely did not look particularly adept at repairing electronics. However, Spock had been wrong about appearances before, just as people had been wrong about _him_ before.

Eventually, the Vulcan was led to the very back of the hallway, and into a cramped office that was much smaller than Mr. Glanstein's had been. It seemed electronic devices littered this room as well, and Spock wondered just how many objects requiring repair existed in the building.

As soon as Wesley shut the door though, Spock felt a pang of apprehension run through him at seeing his exit closed off. He still did not relish being alone in a room with another man behind a closed door, and despite how shameful his feelings made him, he could not help but feel them anyway. However, Spock pushed the feeling away as quickly as it had manifested. Mr. Crawford was his employer. He was not the High Priest. There was nothing to be apprehensive about. He needed to stop being so foolish in regards to his petty emotions.

Mr. Crawford, who was completely oblivious to Spock's inner battle with his emotions, spent a few seconds clearing the desk and brushing a chair off for the Vulcan to sit in before signaling to it. "Uh, just take a seat there and I'll get you in our system."

"Thank you," Spock answered softly and sat down; his hat, gloves, and scarf bundled up together in his hands.

"Do you want me to take that coat for you?" Wesley asked him as he sat down in the seat across the desk.

"That is not necessary. I will keep it on for now," Spock answered. He knew he would have to part with it when he was given his uniform, but until that moment came, he would linger in its warmth and security for as long as possible. Taking the coat off would only further expose him.

A surge of indifference flitted into him, but Spock wholly resisted his urge to wince and grasp his temple. His migraine, it seemed, was only getting worse as the morning progressed. No matter what though, Spock resolved to keep his hands folded in his lap. He would have to learn to get over this chronic pain. He would have to learn to carry on like it did not exist. He could not appear weak in front of others.

"Do each his own," Wesley commented before he whistled loudly, and let his hands work away at his computer terminal. Spock wished he wouldn't whistle. Not in a room this small. Not when his head felt like it was falling apart.

A few more seconds passed by in silence before the human sighed, and turned to regard him. "Alright, just so we're clear, this isn't a salaried position. This is an hourly one. Are you okay with that?" Wesley asked him hesitantly.

Spock nodded. He had not been made aware of that distinction, but there was little he could do about it now. He was already in New York City, and he could not afford to go anywhere else.

"Standard pay for this position is twelve credits an hours, but Robert told me you were going to work at half the rate? Is that right?" the human went on.

Spock inwardly bristled. He still was not satisfied at accepting only half the rate; especially for an hourly position, but it had been that or nothing and he would not go back on his agreement.

_'And Vulcans don't go back on their word…do they?'_ S'teth's voice sought to remind him from the back of his mind.

"Affirmative," Spock answered impassively while ignoring the harrowing memory.

Wesley smiled. "Okay, so that's six credits an hour, but I'm going to go ahead and bump it up to eight. Harold won't get that raise he was wanting, but you seem like a nice guy, so I'm willing to throw in a bit extra."

_How thoughtful, _Spock thought sarcastically, and was immediately ashamed at the emotional direction his thoughts had taken. The man was not obligated to increase his rate at all. He had done so purely out of kindness. Spock should be grateful.

"I find that acceptable," he answered, which prompted the man to chuckle.

"Do you, now," he added, much to Spock's bemusement. "Okay, I guess I'll explain what's expected of you," Wesley started with another sigh. Spock wondered just how much the man actually wished to be here given how many sighs he had already exhibited. "So the shift is going to be six days a week, from seven to four. Harold usually comes in at nine, and he's only here early right now because we've been shorthanded for the past month. You'll get thirty minutes for lunch, and pay day is every other Tuesday. I do give you guys holidays off, because let's face it, no one comes in to get their replicator fixed on Christmas," he let his voice trail off in a laugh that fell flat when Spock did not respond. Had the man expected him to? For while Wesley Crawford had been attempting to instill humor into the conversation, Spock had rapidly been calculating his monthly income based on the information he had just heard, and his results were far from humorous.

While Wesley had been explaining the routine, Spock had come to the depressing conclusion that if he worked nine hours every day for six days a week at the given pay scale, he would only gross a little over seventeen hundred credits, and that was _before_ taxes. Spock was not sure what the taxes were in New York, but if they were anything like San Francisco, he knew he wouldn't see seventeen hundred at the end of the month. He'd see less than that. His payment to Starfleet was thirteen hundred a month, which depending again on the taxes, might be all Spock was able to accrue on a monthly basis at _Barton and Co. Repairs. _

Spock felt disappointment wash over him at this revelation, because it meant that he would have to secure another source of income. He would have to find another job. Working here would not be sufficient if he were to make a living.

"So…anyway," Wesley started again awkwardly and ran a hand through his hair; Spock's disheartening revelation going completely unnoticed. "We usually incorporate a _'drop off'_ system. Our customers bring in their defective item, and we find the root of the problem, and fix it so they don't have to replace it. Though, we do have refurbished merchandise in the store if a customer chooses to go that route, or if they just want to make a purchase. We also do house calls for the larger items that can't really be transported, but I'm going to see how you do _in house_ before I send you out on one of those. Harold likes to take the majority of them anyway because you get paid more an hour doing it," Wesley paused and leaned forward slightly. "But if you prove to be a better employee than Harold, he won't be able to take the majority of them."

At that statement, Spock couldn't help but immediately start pondering ways to get Mr. Crawford to permit him to carry out _house calls_ as well. He could certainly use the increased rate, and he had no doubts that his work ethic was far better than the human currently up at the front of the store.

"We've got a spec manual for almost everything. You'll want to download that onto your personal PADD, and you'll want to do that ASAP so that you'll be prepared for whatever a customer throws at you. We used to provide the PADD's to the employees, but here in the past couple of months, I've had to cut back on costs. So, sad to say, but you will have to bring your own. It's updated every month for new items, and you can do that here in the office."

Spock shifted in his seat. He had sold his PADD in New Jersey to pay for the hotel room. It did not surprise him that there was yet another thing he was going to have to save up for.

Wesley's eyes roamed over Spock thoughtfully. "I don't see one on you now, and I meant to tell you to bring it with you yesterday, but I forgot. So, when you come in tomorrow, just bring your PADD and I'll update it here," he added and was just about to continue on when Spock was forced to stop him. He did not want to, but he felt compelled to inform his new manager that he was not prepared.

"I do apologize for interrupting," the Vulcan started quietly, and absolutely hated the fact that despite his best effort to be as prepared as possible, he had once again failed. "But I do not own a PADD at the moment. However, as soon as I am able, I will purchase another one," Spock finished as confidently as possible.

Wesley sighed in what Spock deduced was irritation. A second later, Spock felt that irritation in his mind.

That wasn't a good sign.

"I am sorry—,"

"It's fine, Mr. Spock. Just make sure you get one as quickly as you can," the human cut him off, which confused Spock. Had he not just said that he would purchase one as soon as he was able? Why did humans feel the need to reiterate that which had already been stated? And why was Spock getting this irritated? Did it have to do with the other man's irritation? Were the foreign emotions beginning to influence Spock? Such a thought scared him, and he decided to halt the line of thinking. He wasn't ready to ponder a possibly _new_ problem with his telepathy. Not here on his first day of work.

"Yes sir," Spock answered, the tone of his voice betraying nothing about how he really felt.

For a moment, Wesley remained silent and just studied him. Spock resisted the urge to fidget. He hated being stared at. "You Vulcans are supposed to be smart, right? You probably already know how to repair most of the things that come through our door, anyway. So there's probably not a big rush. Get one when it's convenient for you," Wesley finally said with a smile. Spock felt a large quantity of sympathy lurking behind the smile, and he immediately felt shame and embarrassment as result. The human obviously suspected that Spock was having financial problems, and had taken pity on him.

He did not want pity. He did not need it.

"I am confident that if the devices presented to me are able to be repaired, I will be sufficiently able to do so, Sir," Spock answered sincerely, neither denying or confirming the human's assumptions that all Vulcans were smart. He had not felt very _smart _in quite some time.

Wesley smiled again, and slapped his hands together which elicited a loud popping sound. Again, Spock wished he would not perform such gestures in such a small room. "Okay then! Now that that's settled, let's get you a uniform."

((oOo))

An hour later found Spock behind the front desk next to Harold in a new short-sleeved grey uniform shirt with white stripes running down it vertically. There was also, like Harold's, a red patch on the chest representing the company as well as his name.

He had not liked the fact that the shirt was short-sleeved, because not only would he be colder as a result, but his skin, which was already telepathically sensitive, would be exposed without the layer of clothing there. Spock had supposed a moment later though that it didn't really matter. He was picking up every foreign emotion anyway. There was little that clothing could do about that. However, his thin arms and wrists would be all the more visible through short-sleeves as well, which would only highlight the fact that he was severely underweight. That _had _been something that mattered to him, because it was a weakness he was not able to hide like his shielding problem.

But again, there had been nothing he could do about it. The uniform was the uniform, and he was required to wear it. He hadn't liked the fact that his name was featured on the red patch either. Spock had wished he could hide it. He did not want people to know his name. He did not want them to know who he was. But again, there had been nothing he could do about it. Rules were rules.

Spock had also been given work pants to match his shirt, though when he had put them on, they had hung around his hips a little too loosely for comfort. Very discreetly, Spock had walked back to the small office where Wesley returned to while he changed, and had asked for the smaller size, but the manager had informed him with a frown that that had been the smallest size they had. Spock decided that as soon as he left work that afternoon, he would have to go and purchase a belt. He didn't want to have to constantly pull his pants up. It would be distracting, and it would make him less efficient.

When he had been fully clothed in the required uniform, Wesley had asked him if he had any further questions, and upon receiving a negative answer, Spock had been sent back up to the front to Harold, who was supposed to be teaching him how to work the company's computer system so that he would be able to pull up work orders, process them, and also accept forms of payment for orders that had been completed, or merchandise that a customer would want to purchase.

He was _supposed_ to be teaching him, but so far, Harold had promptly ignored Spock the entire time. It was quite obvious that the human completely detested working with him, but the Vulcan again was not that surprised. There were not many individuals who had enjoyed working with him in the past; whether they had been human or Vulcan.

Wishing to converse with the human as little as possible anyway, Spock made no complaint and decided to attempt to figure it out himself. He held a class A-7 computer rating, didn't he? He had _been_ the Chief Science Officer on the Enterprise, had he not? He _should _be able to handle a simple computer system like the one before him. What would his father say upon learning the difficulties Spock was having in doing just that?

Yet, after almost twenty minutes of trying and ultimately failing, Spock realized that it did not matter how smart he thought he was, he could not teach himself the company's protocol. He understood computers, but a protocol would have to be taught to him. Spock tried for another ten minutes before realizing that he would have to request Harold's guidance, which was unfortunate.

"Mr. Harold?" Spock asked by way of the man's first name. He still had not learned his last name, and he was not about to ask.

"Jesus Christ, can't you see I'm busy? What do you want now?" Harold, who had been in the midst of reading a digital magazine over his PADD, spat in annoyance and jerked his head up.

Spock ignored the hostile tone and stood up straighter in front of the terminal he had been studying. If he was going to perform the job expected of him, he needed to learn these things. Harold might not care for Spock on a personal level, but as a fellow employee and coworker, the human was going to have to put aside his scorn for the sake of the company. "If you would kindly do as Mr. Crawford has instructed, and guide me through your computer system and company protocols, I can begin to perform the job required of me," the Vulcan answered curtly, his eyes narrowed at the larger human whose shirt seemed too small for his boisterous frame if the overhang of stomach was anything to go off of.

Harold scowled and laughed bitterly. "What, not smart enough to figure it out yourself? Of course, then again, if the Fleet won't even take you, you obviously aren't that smart," the man jibed arrogantly as he slammed his PADD down on the desk.

Spock straightened up in anger. "The Fleet has not _rejected _me. I voluntarily resigned my commission," he corrected with a hint of disdain, and wondered why he was even divulging this information. Spock owed him no explanation.

Harold rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, that's right, you _deserted_. Got a nice, big fat DD on your record to show for it, too," Harold raised his hands in mock surrender before continuing. "But my bad! We'll say you _resigned. _Not that it makes you look any better or anything_,_" he finished in an exaggerated tone before walking toward Spock and roughly bumping him over so as to get a look at the computer he was attempting to understand. A wave of irritation bordering on anger stabbed through him.

Spock gasped as his head jolted in pain. He could not refrain from massaging his temple this time, which only prompted Harold to regard him quizzically. Unlike Amber Beckinsale though, Harold was not at all concerned for him. He was merely perplexed. "What's wrong with you?" he all but spat, as if just knowing was a tedious thing.

"Nothing. I would ask you to continue. It is only logical that the sooner you show me what I am required to know, the sooner we can cease conversing with one another," Spock rebutted hatefully, and hated his failure to control his own emotions even more. However, it was hard being cordial when he was constantly being bombarded with the man's hostility for no reason at all. He had done nothing at all to this human, yet Harold seemed to loathe him just as much as his Uncle Robert did.

"Hey, there's no need to have an attitude. It's not my fault you're too stupid to figure out a simple fucking computer system. What Wesley was thinking when he hired you, I will never know. That's what you get for hiring a fucking deserter," Harold responded in an even more hateful tone. Spock wished he could fire some sort of response back, but he refrained and settled for pursing his lips. The human would come back with another insult anyway, and Spock would never see the end of it. It was better just to remain silent, learn the routine, and carry on with his work no matter how tedious it was becoming.

However, Spock couldn't help but feel resentful that Wesley Crawford had given this information to Harold. He had been assured that such details as a dishonorable discharge would remain confidential and only available to management. So why did this human know about it? But again, what was Spock prepared to do about it? He could confront Wesley, but that would only cause him to fall out of favor with his new manager, and he could not afford such a thing to happen. Especially since he had already fallen out of favor with his coworker before the shift had even started.

"Are you done?" Harold inquired rudely.

Spock remained silent and nodded once. If he permitted himself to speak, he would say something he regretted.

"Good, now fucking pay attention. I don't have all day to babysit stupid Vulcans."

((oOo))

As horrible a teacher as Harold was, he only had to show Spock once how to go about his duties, and then the two of them had little to no reason to speak to one another, which was fortunate.

The first customer of the day came at 9:15AM. She was an older woman, probably in her fifties, and she had brought in a PADD that she had just informed them both had been _'malfunctioning'_ for the past three days.

"If you'll fill out this information and leave it with us, you can pick it up at the end of the day," Harold informed her lazily, making Spock perk an eyebrow in surprise. Harold had not even taken a look at the woman's PADD. What if the malfunction was not severe enough to warrant that length of time? What else were he and Spock doing that they couldn't look the device over right at that moment?

"Ma'am, if you would be willing to spare a few moments, I can examine the PADD now and determine if the malfunction can be corrected presently so that you do not have to venture back here this afternoon," Spock informed her from his place behind the front desk. Instantly Harold turned to glare at him, his irritation becoming the most palpable thing in the room.

"Oh, that would be great! I really don't have time to come back this afternoon. My daughter's birthday is tonight, you see, so if it can be fixed before then, I would greatly appreciate it," she answered brightly and with a large smile while handing over her PADD to Spock.

Harold though, was not keen on such an idea, and halted her before she could place the device in Spock's hands.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. That's not how we do things. You'll have to excuse Mr. _Spock_. It's his first day so he doesn't really know what he's doing," Harold bit out through gritted teeth, causing both the woman and Spock to frown at him. Though, Spock's frown was more of a glare.

"On the contrary, I know exactly what I am doing, and I do not see a logical reason for delaying the repair time on this customer's item. You have not even examined the device to determine the extent of the repair involved. It might be a minor issue," Spock argued back. He detested arguing like this in front of a customer, but it could not be helped. He was here to perform a service, not drag out said service because he did not feel like dealing with it at the moment, which was obviously what Harold was doing if Spock had to make an educated guess.

"Spock. That's _not _how we do things. She has to fill out information. We have to get a work order going. There are steps involved here. There are other repairs in front of hers," Harold snapped icily.

_Repairs in front of hers?_ Spock thought in surprise. If that were true, why were they not working on them? He was about to ask as much when Wesley Crawford emerged from the back, a scowl on his face and disappointment clear in his step. The woman, who had by now taken on a look of discomfort, glanced up at Spock's manager.

When Wesley caught her gaze, he smiled at her, effectively hiding all signs of disappointment. "Ma'am, is there something I can help you with? I'm the manager," he asked in exaggerated politeness, and it was obvious to Spock that he had at least heard in part the argument between him and Harold. For the second time that day, Spock had erred. He should not have allowed the argument with Harold to escalate in front of a customer. It did not matter how right he thought he was.

"Oh, yes! I need to have my PADD repaired…" And just like that, Wesley took over. He took the PADD from her, gave her one of the work PADD's to fill in her information, and in the meantime, he glared at Harold for a long moment before thrusting the PADD to Spock with a bit of a glare in his direction as well. Obviously he meant for Spock to discern the problem, but it was apparent that he was upset with both of them. Now would be the moment to redeem himself though by showing his skills.

PADD in hand, Spock took it to one of the work tables stationed next to the front desk where a computer terminal was set up as well as an array of technical tools to assist him if need be. In the background, he could hear Wesley conversing with the woman, and helping her through the digital paperwork. Harold, Spock assumed, was probably still glaring at him. But Spock paid it no mind as he hooked the woman's PADD into the computer terminal and speedily began searching her device for transcript errors as well as viruses. It did not take him long to locate the source of the malfunction; a virus.

It took him two minutes to eradicate the virus from the woman's PADD, and another minute to install his own personal anti-virus that he had created when he'd been a Professor at the Academy. By the time he had brought it back over to her, she had just finished filling out the required information. Harold, Spock could see, was speedily putting in the work order for the company's records.

"Here is your PADD, ma'am. It was infected with a virus capable of polymorphic encryption, but I have eradicated it, and I also took the liberty to install an anti-virus program on your device that will halt viruses of this strength from attempting to breach it in the future," Spock informed her while he handed her the PADD.

She accepted it with a buoyant smile. "Oh wow, that doesn't sound good. I'm glad you could fix it, though! Thank you so much! What do I owe you?"

"That will be thirty credits, ma'am," Harold spoke up from his stagnant place behind the desk, and when her eyes shifted over to him, they narrowed and hardened. Spock could feel her dislike for the other man, and while he mirrored her emotions, he did not relish adding to his own.

"Yes well, no thanks to you," she bit out as she rummaged through her purse for her credit chip.

As soon as she was gone, Wesley's smile and polite expression became furious, and he immediately rounded back to them. "Next time you two decide to hold a debate in front of a customer, I'm writing you up. God knows what would've happened had I not come up here when I did. Unbelievable!" he chastised, making both Spock and Harold straighten up; Harold more so in a defensive manner.

"Mr. Crawford, Spock was the one who started that. He didn't want to pay attention to protocol, and I called him out on it," Harold argued, his chin held high, but Spock was not about to take the blame, and soon his stance became defensive as well.

"I did not see the logic in forcing a customer to wait the entire span of a day for a malfunction that took me three point three minutes to repair as well as upgrade on a personal PADD," Spock defended, but before Harold could form a retort, Wesley was waving his hands.

"Look, I don't care who started it. What matters is that it happened." He paused and leveled his eyes at Harold. "Next time a customer brings something in as easy as that, fix it then. We've got no work orders in for today yet. There's no damn reason why you had to delay _anything _aside from the fact that you were just being too damn lazy_," _Wesley finished firmly, and Spock couldn't help the deep well of satisfaction that erupted within him, for that was exactly what he had been trying to say. "And you," Wesley shifted his narrowed eyes back to Spock and all of the satisfaction disappeared instantly at the disdainful glare. "Harold's right in the sense that there is a protocol you need to follow, you can't just do what you please in here. This isn't a Starship."

Spock refrained from commenting that no, _Barton and Co. Repairs_ _**was not**_ a Starship. Not even close.

"I'll let it slide since it's your first day, but next time I won't. Also, it's fine this time, but don't ever upgrade anyone's equipment without getting it approved through me so that I can charge for it. That's a service that that customer just got for free. We lost credits on that," Wesley scolded him, and Spock blushed at the disappointed tone. He had not given the upgrade a second thought while installing it, and he should have known that it would be something an electronic repair company would attempt to capitalize on if given the chance. Even if the anti-virus had been created by him, it no longer belonged to him anymore given his disassociation from the Fleet. It belonged to Starfleet, and to the commercial company's attempting to make a profit off of it. Therefore, he should have sought approval. He should have considered that, and because he hadn't, his manager was angry with him. It seemed like no matter what he did; Spock could not keep from making errors, and it was only the first day.

"I apologize, Mr. Crawford. It was not my intention to lose the company a possible source of revenue. I should have considered the consequences of my actions more thoroughly," Spock answered apologetically, and attempted to look anywhere that _wasn't_ Harold's smirking face.

Wesley sighed and rubbed his middle-aged face with his hands. "It's fine, Mr. Spock. You're new. You're allowed to make a certain amount of mistakes."

_Except I am Vulcan. I am not supposed to make mistakes_, Spock thought in dismay, his migraine pulsating in his head. Today was not shaping up to be a good day. In fact, Spock could not remember a time since before his stay on Altriri IV when he had had a good day. What even constituted a good day?

((oOo))

The next customer that came in almost thirty minutes later, Spock let Harold handle so that he could stand back and observe the process that the company utilized. He did not want to make another mistake on his first day.

The rest of the morning after that passed in silence between Spock and Harold, yet the tension between them could not have been more tangible.

Harold did not like Spock; the Vulcan could feel it just as much as he could feel his migraine. The man was annoyed by him, angered by him, and most of all as the day wore on…_jealous_ of him. Spock was bemused by the jealousy, for he could not fathom why _anyone_ would be jealous of him. If he could permit himself to play host to an emotion as petty as jealousy, Spock knew he would be jealous of everyone who _wasn't_ him.

Aside from the woman that had come in that morning, the one who had been utterly grateful to Spock for repairing her PADD; every other person that came into the shop was taken aback by the fact that he was a Vulcan.

All morning Spock had been forced to listen to a litany of: _"Yes, I need to fix my…whoa, are you a Vulcan? I thought all the Vulcans had left Earth?" _or, _"Hey I know you! You're that Vulcan I saw on the holonews! The one that took out that crazy Romulan! What…what are you doing here?"_ It seemed that the woman Spock had met on the bench in Jersey City had been a rarity among citizens, because no one else bothered to be as nice or as polite as she had.

The worst part about these observations by Terran citizens was when they spoke about Spock when they thought that he could not hear them; especially on the common occasion that he had been recognized as the former Commander of the Enterprise. _"What a waste, to end up here in an electronics repair shop. I wonder what he did…" _or, _"he must be a pretty stupid Vulcan if he's working here…"_ the worst and most shocking of these comments however had been when one woman; who had come in with her friend and upon recognizing him, whispered, "_I heard he did something illegal, and Captain Kirk kicked him off the ship."_ Spock had been in the middle of organizing work orders when he'd caught her words, and for a moment, his heart rate had gotten unbearably fast. Surely, what he had done had not come to light? Surely, people hadn't found out…

_"Oh, that's just a rumor, Ameila. You know Vulcans don't do the whole __**illegal **__thing…" _the woman's friend had laughed off just as they had departed the shop. Spock had released a breath he hadn't been aware he was even holding. For a moment, he had truly believed that his deeds on Altriri IV had become known, and it disquieted him that he would have been completely unprepared to handle it had that been the case.

Harold, to his dismay, had watched the entire exchange, and when Spock caught his calculating expression, he glared at the human until the man looked back down to his PADD as he had been doing all morning.

The sad part about hearing those things was that Spock agreed with them. It _was_ a waste, to end up here when he had imagined things going so much differently. He _was_ stupid to have done the things he had done on that planet, and they _had _been illegal. While the words had been somewhat hard to hear, and not exactly directed toward Altriri IV, that had not made them farce.

At 1:15 PM, Wesley came back out of his office with a black coat on, a pair of sunglasses on his face, and called Spock's name.

Spock, who had been in the process of taking apart a faulty replicator, paused in the endeavor to regard his manager. Harold, who had been looking at the digital magazine again on his PADD, paused as well to watch the scene with suspicious interest.

"Mr. Crawford?" Spock prompted him.

"Come on, I'm taking you to lunch," Wesley informed him plainly and continued on toward the door. Spock took that as a clear indicator that he should follow, and started putting away the replicator.

His coworker immediately sat up on his chair, his eyes wide with exasperation. "Hey! Wait a minute! What about my lunch? I was supposed to leave an hour ago!" Harold protested in a whiny voice, his PADD utterly forgotten.

Wesley paused at the door and glanced back at him, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. "When Spock and I get back, you'll get to go. Now quit whining and get crackin' on those work orders. I've been watching you on the camera, and Spock's been doing all the work it seems. If you want to continue working here, then you'd better start actually _working._"

Harold blushed and rose dramatically from his chair into a standing position. "This is bullshit…" he muttered under his breath so that Wesley could not hear, but Spock heard him clearly.

"Come on, Spock. I know a good place about a block from here," his manager invited and opened the shop door for Spock, who put on his winter attire, and walked through it and out into cold Manhattan streets.

((oOo))

"Two please," Wesley informed the hostess right after he and Spock walked inside the fairly busy restaurant a block from _Barton and Co. Repairs._ Spock did not like how many people seemed to be inside given the size of the restaurant, but he was not about to complain. And, it _was_ significantly warmer inside. So, at least there was that.

The hostess; a young Asian female; eyed Spock curiously before she smiled, grabbed two digital menus, and turned on her high heels to lead them through the building. "Follow me, please," she said cheerily, but Spock could tell by her emotions that she was anything but cheerful.

The restaurant was, in Wesley's words, supposedly the_ best Chinese food you could get in New York_. Being that Wesley had likely not been to every Chinese restaurant in New York though, Spock found it highly improbable that he could logically make such a claim. Before, he might have pointed out as much. However, he refrained from commenting. Wesley was not Jim, and lately, Spock had not felt like pointing things out to people anymore as he used to do. It seemed better just to remain silent.

As the hostess led them to what was to be their table, Spock's head throbbed from the new influx of emotions around him. Again, if it had been his choice, he would not have chosen such a crowded establishment. However, Spock had not wanted to offend his manager by being disagreeable. His head might protest to being around so many individuals and their emotions, but he would endure. It was illogical to think that he could avoid crowds all the time in a place like New York City. Perhaps though, if he accrued enough credits over the passing years and eventually found a different occupation, he would be able to find a place outside of the city in a more remote location.

Such a thing was highly desirable to him, which made it all the more likely that it would never happen.

"Will this be okay?" the hostess asked and indicated to a booth, effectively bringing Spock out of his musings.

Wesley smiled at her and, surprisingly, looked to Spock for the answer. "This will be sufficient, thank you," Spock supplied in monotone.

She gave him another long look before smiling, and walking back to the front of the restaurant to seat other guests. Spock waited for Wesley to sit down before he sat down across from him and picked up one of the two flashing menus that had been left. Wesley did the same.

"I hope you don't mind coming with me. Figured it give us a chance to get to know one another a little better. I used to take all the new employees to lunch on the first day when I worked at corporate," the human said casually over his menu.

Spock placed his own menu on the table and glanced at the man. "I do not mind accompanying you for a meal, Mr. Crawford. Thank you for taking the liberty to invite me," Spock supplied politely just as their waiter walked over and sat down two glasses of water. Spock couldn't remember the last time he had actually drank anything. It had at least been two to three days now aside from the liquid that was naturally in his food. Given that, the Vulcan made a grab for the water almost instantly. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until it was right there in front of him, and he could not help himself.

Wesley eyed him curiously along with the waiter at his unusual haste.

"Uh, so my name's Brian, and I'll be your server this afternoon. Can I start you with some appetizers?"

"Eggrolls," Wesley supplied easily as if he'd done it a thousand times before.

Brian marked something down on his commercial model PADD. "Okay, eggrolls coming up. I'll give you guys a couple of minutes to look over the menu."

"So, Spock. Whatcha gonna get?" Wesley asked just as Brian disappeared.

Spock picked the flashing menu back up off the table and glanced at the varying choices. Despite the apple he had consumed this morning, he surprisingly found himself to be hungry, which was quite unexpected. But, if he were being honest, he really did not have the credits to indulge in fine dining; not while most of it was going toward the hotel room he was staying in. Anything left over from that had to go to the PADD he found out he had to purchase again, a more permanent place to stay, and of course, his thirteen hundred credit payment to Starfleet.

"I am uncertain," Spock answered softly, but inside he was trying to come up with an answer as to why he _wouldn't _be eating anything at all. What could he say that would not appear inappropriate or impolite?

"Well, I know what I'm getting. The _Asian Pecan Chicken_. It's amazing. You'd be a fool not to try it. I say you should go with that," the man commented spritely and set his menu down with finality.

"Vulcans do not consume meat, Mr. Crawford. We are vegetarians," Spock explained impassively and continued to let his eyes roam over the menu in an attempt to find the cheapest thing on it. Spock knew that if he did not order something, it would likely come off as rude. He had been around humans long enough to know that when someone invited you somewhere, you were expected to adhere to a certain…guideline. Spock would be breaking that guideline by not eating something.

Wesley palmed his forehead at Spock's clarification. "Ah, yeah. Forgot about that little fact. Well, I'm sure there's something here that doesn't have meat in it."

"Have you gentlemen decided?" Brian asked as he sauntered back over and set a plate of eggrolls down; a bright smile on his face. Wesley looked to Spock, obviously wondering if he had made a selection yet.

Spock glanced back down at the menu one last time before answering. "I will have the _Lo Mein_." The _Lo Mein_ seemed to cost the lowest in credits, and therefore had been the most logical choice.

"What kind of meat?"

"None please. I am a vegetarian," Spock replied as he re-folded his digital menu, and set it at the end of the table.

"Alright, and you, sir?" Brian queried and turned his head to Wesley.

"I will take the _Asian Pecan Chicken_," he answered, and grabbed for an eggroll. Spock did not.

Brian marked something else down onto his PADD. "Okay! Shouldn't be too long. I know you guys are on your lunch break probably."

"Thanks," Wesley acknowledged through a mouthful of eggroll. Seconds later, Brian was gone, leaving just Spock and his new manager.

"You want an eggroll, Spock?"

"I must decline."

Wesley pouted, which strongly reminded Spock of Jim, which in turn meant he wished the man _would _never make such an expression again in his presence. "Oh come on! It's vegetarian, which means you can eat it, can't you?"

Spock wished he could sigh, but thought better of it. Apparently the human would not be satisfied until he consumed said eggroll. Taking his hand, which had been tightly folded in his lap, Spock reached forward and grabbed the brown, cylindrical shaped food source off of the plate in the middle of the table. He greatly detested using his hands to do so, but he knew it would appear unusual for him to use his utensils to acquire it. He did not like the greasy residue which coated the small appetizer, but brought it up to his face to inspect it nevertheless. Wesley said it did not contain meat, but could he be trusted? Spock had not known him more than seven hours, and if he had come to learn anything about strangers, it was that most of them could not be trusted. In fact, most people in general could not be trusted.

The sound of Wesley's laughter brought his inspecting gaze off the eggroll and onto the human across from him. "Is there something humorous?" Spock asked the chuckling form seated there.

It took a few moments for the human to calm down enough to answer. "No, no, it's just…do you always inspect your food like that? Like it's a bomb about to explode?"

Spock could feel the man's amusement bubbling across the table which made his head pang slightly, but at least it was not hostility or indifference. "I have never consumed this particular item before. It is only logical that I inspect it thoroughly before consuming it."

Wesley laughed even harder at that. "Well, that's going to take some getting used to."

Spock perked an eyebrow. "What is?"

"Just hearing someone speak like you do. So…_proper_. I just don't see it too often," Wesley answered, and took a sip from his drink. Spock wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he didn't. It was not the first time his patterns of speech had been a cause of interest, and it likely wouldn't be the last either.

At that thought, Spock placed the eggroll down on the plate in front of him, and took the opportunity to apologize, again, for his shortcomings from earlier that morning. Perhaps doing so would cause the uneaten eggroll to go unnoticed as well as get Wesley's attention off of his mannerisms.

"Mr. Crawford, I must again extend my apologies for disobeying your rules this morning. I had not intended to lose the company possible credits, and I can assure you that it will not happen again," he supplied sincerely.

Wesley's smile disappeared, and he sighed and waved him down. "It's fine, Spock. Really. It's your first day. I expect mistakes…" he finished and fixed Spock with a thoughtful frown.

Spock had almost opened his mouth to say that he was Vulcan, and Vulcans did not make mistakes, but for some reason it just felt wrong to say it. It felt like, if he said it, then it would be a lie. "I appreciate your leniency," Spock settled for softly and gratefully before peering back down at his uneaten eggroll. His plan had succeeded. The eggroll lay there forgotten.

The meal didn't take that long to come out, and when the waiter set both the plates down onto the table, Wesley wasted no time in attacking his food with gusto. Spock took a little more time with his. The _Lo Mein_ was palatable, but Spock knew he wouldn't finish it. The chef had put quite a generous portion on his plate, and being that Spock had grown accustomed to not eating a lot of food, he knew he would only be able to eat a small amount as a result. But he didn't want to waste food either; especially when he had paid for it, so he made a mental reminder to request some variation of a storage container to place the remainder of his meal in. Perhaps he could finish the rest tonight bearing his appetite was up to it.

They had barely been eating for five minutes when Wesley's conversation drifted into more personal territory. "So, what made you quit the Fleet?"

"Pardon?" Spock all but choked out after forcing himself to swallow a mouthful of _Lo Mein._ Of course he had heard the question, but he wanted to stall the human so that he could come up with an answer that would not be rude, but would also not hint as to why he actually did resign from Starfleet.

"I asked, why did you quit the Fleet? It was a headliner a few weeks ago in the media and all, what with the only Vulcan in Starfleet just up and quitting in the middle of the two-year mission. I heard you left Captain Kirk high and dry, but then I'd heard you went on some science vessel, which is obviously not true given that you're here now and all…"

Spock stiffened in his seat, his appetite suddenly disappearing. Of course, he had heard all these things before, but no one had ever really asked him so directly before now. Admiral Pike had asked him, but that was different than having a stranger do it. "Starfleet no longer was a logical endeavor for me to pursue. Therefore, logically, I left," Spock answered quietly, his eyes averted to the last eggroll in the middle of the table. Wesley had consumed most of them in the course of their meal.

His manager chuckled, but there was not any humor in it. "And, you thought working hourly as an electronic repair associate was a more _logical_ pursuit? Over being the First Officer of the Enterprise? You _have_ to explain that one to me."

Spock snapped his head back up as irritation flooded his system; irritation that was burning to be expressed. "I do not have to explain anything, Mr. Crawford. My reasoning's for resigning from Starfleet are of a personal nature, and I am not in the habit of sharing my personal information with other individuals," he all but snapped, making the human across from him sit up straighter and regard him warily.

Spock considered stopping at that, but while they were on the subject, he might as well bring up what had been on his mind earlier. "Furthermore, I do not know how Mr. Harold came into the knowledge of my dishonorable discharge from Starfleet. It is supposed to be confidential information only available to you. Therefore, I respectfully request that no one else be made aware of it," he finished quietly, but as firmly as possible. Such knowledge had great potential to spread even more rumors, and that was the last thing the Vulcan wanted at this point in his life.

Upon hearing the second half of his statement, Wesley's face became paler, and a sharp pang of shock flitted into Spock's mind from him. If the Vulcan didn't know any better, he would say that Wesley had had no idea that Harold knew about the dishonorable discharge, which implied that Harold had come into the knowledge by his own means. Spock instantly felt guilty and regretful for even bringing it up. Because of his emotional need to express his irritation in some way, he had likely offended his manager, and had even gone so far as to imply that said manager had illegally leaked confidential information to an employee without having all of the requisite facts to make such an accusation. After all, Spock had no proof of Mr. Crawford giving _any_ information to Harold.

"You're right," Wesley started professionally, which momentarily surprised Spock. "I shouldn't be asking you that kind of question, it's inappropriate, and I apologize. And in response to the other thing, I don't know _how_ Harold found out about that. He probably got into my files somehow, and for that, I apologize. I will be writing him up for it, and rest assured, he won't be floating that information around. His job will depend on it. I'll have a talk with him this afternoon," he finished sincerely, and Spock could feel from his emotions that he was actually sorry for having asked the question about his reasoning's to resign, and determined to make sure Harold was reprimanded.

It would likely cause Harold and Spock's relationship to become even more worse than it already was, but Spock did not care. In his mind, there was absolutely _no_ potential for him and that particular human to ever become friends.

"Do not apologize. You cannot control what Mr. Harold ultimately decides to do, and as for your personal inquiry, I understand that you are curious and I cannot hold such a thing against you. It seems that my appearance is the cause of much curiosity as of late," Spock answered quietly as he played over in his mind every time he had been recognized by a civilian since arriving back on Earth. How every time it had happened; aside from Miss Beckinsale; that recognition had usually been met with shameless staring, or degrading gossip.

A wave of relief came over the other man, and probably because Spock had let both issues drop without further argument. He then brought his hands back up on the table. "Yeah, I've been watching on the cameras all day from the back office. I can see how many people have been recognizing you. That can't be easy," Wesley went on to comment, and took another bite of his chicken. Errantly, Spock was grateful that Wesley had not ordered rare steak.

"It…has not been," the Vulcan answered truthfully, and for a moment he wondered just why he was admitting these things in front of this man. Perhaps it had been because of his apology as well as the fact that he _had not _apprised Harold of his dishonorable discharge. Or, perhaps it was purely because Spock just wanted to confide to someone—_anyone_—that nothing since he had arrived back on Earth had been easy; financially, mentally, or physically. Wesley had no idea how far his problems actually went, but at least Spock could pretend for a moment that he did; that there was someone out there in the universe who knew about the pain he was living with; or, the pain he was _trying _to learn to live with.

Wesley stared at him thoughtfully, and Spock wondered what the man was thinking about. Was he perhaps judging him? Perhaps coming to his own conclusions? Spock wasn't sure. All he could discern was that Wesley was feeling pity for him a moment later, and the Vulcan hated that. He did not want anyone's pity. He did not need it. Pity was for the weak.

'_Your body actually disgusts me right now with its' weakness…'_

'_Your mind cannot handle another encounter with mine. It is too weak in that aspect'_

Spock inwardly shuddered at the gruesome memories. Perhaps he was weak, but he still did not want pity.

"You know…I've got a suggestion for you, if you're willing to hear me out?" Wesley piped up from his side of the table.

"What is your suggestion?" Spock encouraged, but was not entirely sure he wanted to hear it.

"Well, if you're wanting to cut down on people recognizing you, I would suggest letting your hair grow out a little bit. You can't wear that beanie all of the time. Nothing too long of course. We've got a dress-code, and you can't be walking in with a hippie haircut and a scraggly beard," Wesley hurried to clarify before continuing. "But perhaps just enough to where your ears are covered, and where your bangs might cover your eyebrows," he finished genuinely.

Spock pinched his eyebrows together in consideration. "So, you are suggesting that I not wear my hair in the traditional, Vulcan style?" he asked, though he was almost sure that was what the human had meant.

Wesley nodded, and looked pleased with himself. He certainly was feeling pleased. "Yeah, that's exactly what I'm suggesting. If you cover those features up, then people are going to have a harder time recognizing you, and you won't have to put up with people talking about you, or staring at you. A hair style change can make a whole world of difference."

Spock looked away in thought. For as long as he could remember, he had always worn his hair in the traditional Vulcan style. It felt almost blasphemous to _not_ wear it like that. Sure, it had gotten slightly longer since he had been on Earth, but it still looked Vulcan. However, Spock had to admit that Mr. Crawford's suggestion was actually logical. If he permitted his hair to grow out in length, he could then style it over his ears and his eyebrows, which would effectively mask his Vulcan features. Yes his winter hat did the same thing, but Wesley had made a sound point. He could not wear the hat all of the time. It made sense that if he could hide those features, then he could hide his identity. He could slip through day-to-day society undetected. People would look at him and see an ordinary, if not strange, man, and not the Vulcan that had quit Starfleet in the middle of a two-year mission. That wasn't the only thing that made such an idea appealing though. If Spock were being honest, he had not felt like a Vulcan since his stay on Altriri IV. Perhaps by letting his hair grow out, he would be providing a service to his people to. If the citizens here did not recognize him as a Vulcan, then he would not shame his race by being identified as one.

"Your idea has merit, Mr. Crawford. I thank you for suggesting it," Spock answered, and watched as the man smiled at him.

"Hey, anytime," he answered amicably and signaled the waiter over who was standing nearby. "Check, please."

"Are you two together, or separate?" Brian asked them both as he sauntered back over.

"Together."

"Separate." Both Spock and Wesley provided simultaneously, and instantly looked at one another.

It was Spock who spoke first. "Separate," he reiterated firmly.

"Nonsense, Spock. I asked you to lunch, remember?" Wesley chided him in feigned exasperation before looking back at the waiter. "_One_ check please, and a to-go-box," he finished just as firmly, and Spock could judge by the tone that there would be no further arguing.

"Okay, one check. I'll be right back with that, and your to-go-box," Brian answered and walked away.

Spock wasted no time. "I assure you, Mr. Crawford. I am capable of paying for my own meal." It was a lie. He really wasn't capable of it at the moment, but his need to appear self-sufficient overpowered that reality.

Wesley rolled his eyes in a very Kirkian fashion, which _didn't _send a pang of longing through Spock's side. "Save it, Spock. I told you I take all my new employees out to lunch. This one is on me, and technically, it's not even on me, it's on the company. So if that's a problem, take it up with corporate," the man answered in amusement.

Spock's eyebrow came up. "Why would the company see fit to provide me sustenance simply because I am a new employee?" he asked in genuine bemusement. He honestly did not see the logic in it.

Wesley laughed again. "Ah, shit. You are one funny guy, Spock. I'm going to enjoy having you around."

It was completely illogical, but Spock felt a chill crawl through him at the man's last words and he couldn't think of anything to say because of it. He knew that Wesley had not said it with the same intentions as S'teth had once done, for he could feel no lust or hostility from the man; but Spock still could not help but compare them just as he had done with Jim so long ago in that shared bathroom on the Enterprise. He couldn't help but feel wary at anyone claiming to _enjoy _his presence. It hurt to think about, but Spock knew that no one enjoyed having him around, and the ones that did seemed to have some reason for it; a reason that did not benefit Spock. A reason that would usually cause him harm.

Wesley shifted awkwardly at his continued silence and sighed. "That's just the professional and polite thing to do, Spock. I guess if I had to give an actual reason behind it, I would say that maybe it's the company's way of thanking you for coming to work for them. They want your first day to be a pleasing experience. Usually, it's only done for our employees on Salary, but I just wanted to make an exception for you."

Again, Spock was wary about Wesley's surprising kindness toward him, and what it really meant, but he made no mention of it. "Why would they thank me when I am the one that initially requested the position?" Spock furthered, doing his best to quell his illogical, stupid fears.

"Hell if I know, Spock. That's just how it's been done for years upon years upon years. It might not be logical, but it's how we humans do things," he answered a bit more impatiently, like he just couldn't understand Spock's confusion.

Spock was used to this kind of response. He had experienced it a lot when he had been a cadet at the Academy. He had known next to nothing about human culture, despite his mother being human, and had literally found almost every tradition practiced by humans to be illogical and pointless. Now, after years of being around humans and their traditions, there were not many that remained confusing to him. However, every now and again, one would come along that he had not had a chance to understand yet. Like the tradition that had just been explained to him.

"I see," Spock answered simply to show that he needed no further clarification. He could sense Wesley's growing irritation, and he did not wish to fuel his migraine any more than he already had.

Before Wesley could say anything else, Brian returned with the check, and two to-go-boxes. Obviously one was meant for Spock even though he had forgotten to request one.

"Thank you," Spock said as he took the box from him and began to spoon the rest of his _Lo Mein_ into it. There was still quite a bit left, so the box was completely full by the end of it. Spock doubted he would be able to finish all of it before tomorrow.

Moments later after Wesley had paid the check, the two of them set off back to _Barton and Co Repairs._ They had just crossed the second street when Wesley inquired about his living situation. "So Spock, have you found a place to live yet? Marty told me that you relocated from San Francisco. I don't know if you know, but Manhattan can get kinda pricey."

Spock, who had been walking a pace behind him, shook his head despite the man not looking at him. "Negative. I have not made arrangements for a permanent residence as of yet." He saw no reason to lie, but he also saw no reason to confirm that yes, Manhattan was way out of his price range.

Wesley turned his head back to regard him as they walked. "Where are you staying, then?"

Briefly Spock wondered if this was not also a personal question, and therefore inappropriate. But he saw no reason why he could not answer the query regardless. "I am staying in a hotel at present. It is not far from _Barton and Co. Repairs_," Spock answered as they came to the sidewalk, and to his dismay, a very crowded one. He couldn't help but wince in pain as the people brushed and pushed passed him, their emotions feeling like a punch to the stomach as the cold air whipped past him.

"Are you going to keep staying there? Or, are you eventually going to get your own place?" Wesley asked him offhandedly, completely oblivious to Spock's pain.

Again, more personal questions that the Vulcan would rather not answer. However, to keep from irritating or angering his manager with his silence, he decided to answer them anyway. If it would spare him less negative emotional invasion, then he would answer anything at that moment given it did not have to do with Jim, the Enterprise, or Altriri IV. "My plan is to eventually acquire my own residence. The hotel is a suitable arrangement at the moment, but it is not ideal for a permanent dwelling," Spock answered just as a robust human pushed passed him, muttering obscenities about people being in his way all of the time.

"Any luck yet?"

"Clarify."

Wesley sighed, and Spock winced at his irritation. Sighing and irritation, it seemed, had become most people's default reaction toward the Vulcan anytime he spoke. "What I mean is, have you found an apartment yet?"

Spock masked his discomfort so that he could answer. "I regret that I have not looked yet…" he let his voice trail off as they finally neared _Barton and Co. Repairs._ He had not looked yet because he did not have the credits to put down on a deposit for an apartment. However, Spock did not wish for Wesley to know the extent of his financial troubles.

"Well, when you do start looking, I've got a buddy looking for a roommate. He's kind of particular about who he lives with, so I think you'd be perfect for him."

"I thank you for your concern, Mr. Crawford, but I would prefer to live on my own as opposed to with a roommate," Spock answered honestly, and even if he was seeking one, the Vulcan definitely did not wish to room with another male. Just this morning he had had problems with being in a closed office with one, let alone _living _with one.

"Okay, well in case that doesn't work out for you, and I'm just going to be straight with you here," Wesley paused, turned around and looked Spock straight in the eyes. "Unless you're already loaded—,"

"Loaded?" Spock interrupted before he could stop himself. He had no idea what that term was supposed to imply.

"By 'loaded', I mean that unless you're wealthy, it's going to be difficult living by yourself in New York City. Just know that. Most people have to room with someone. They can't afford to do anything else," Wesley clarified in a no nonsense tone.

It was Spock's turn to resist the urge to sigh. "I understand that, Mr. Crawford. Nevertheless—," he started, but Wesley threw up a hand to halt him.

"Look, I'm just saying that if you do end up needing someone, I know a guy who's looking. I'm just throwing that on the table. It makes no difference to me who you live with," Wesley explained before turning back around and walking off toward the store.

Spock watched him for a long moment before following his trail. While he appreciated the offer, the last thing Spock wanted to do was obtain a roommate. He could barely stand being in a hotel room with tenants inhabiting the space around him let alone someone living in the same dwelling as him; their emotions invading him constantly. Such a thought actually sent a shiver down his spine.

Yet, Spock could not help thinking as he walked back inside _Barton and Co. Repairs_ only to narrowly avoid Harold who came shoving past him—most likely to take his allotted lunch break now that Wesley and he had returned—about what would happen in the event that he did have to obtain a roommate? What if his financial situation _did_ force him to live with someone to share the burden? What would he do? How would he handle that? Spock was a Vulcan, and he had always lived alone aside from his parent's house on the Vulcan that had been. He had always had his own space. He knew no one in this city well enough to the point where he would feel even remotely comfortable rooming with them.

In fact, such a prospect actually made him fearful, but given the revelation from this morning that the credits he earned from _Barton and Co Repairs_ were not going to be enough to live on, Spock couldn't help but wonder if such a thing was inevitable.

He could only hope as he hung his coat up, stored his to-go box in a mini fridge which had been placed underneath the front desk and stood back in front of the register, that if it _did_ come to that, he would be able to handle it.

**A.N. The chapter title for this came from Avril Lavigne's song: "Alice" The song, to me, is about someone being in a place that they don't understand, and that's difficult to inhabit, but also determined to endure it regardless. **

**So, what does everyone think about Spock's life in New York City so far? Or, more importantly, how Spock is from a psychological stand point at the this point. I know it seems like I'm really dragging out this part of the story by depicting Spock's experiences at work, or his experiences in the hotel, or the sidewalks, or the grocery stores and the people he's meeting, lol. But honestly, Spock has such unique reactions to these settings that are very normal to all of us, and especially right now given his mental state; that I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to depict them. All those stark details just begging to be written! How often do we get to see Spock doing a minimum wage job that's not an AU fic? **

**On a side-note, I did publish a one-shot this week in the spirit of Halloween. Some of you have already read it. If you haven't, it's titled, "In the House of Flies" if you're interested. I want to thank those of you that read it, and that let me know what you thought. Those of you that haven't read it, go check it out if it's something you can handle! It's a plot that I am eventually planning on expanding once this story is done, and once perdition is done. **

**Thanks again for reading and please leave me a thought if you have the time! I feel like I'm about to pull some 360's on you guys in these next couple of chapters. **


	16. AN

This is not a chapter, I know, but I felt I needed to express this in a platform where everyone reading would be sure to see it. I'm likely not going to finish this, despite it being drafted already. I know I said I would, but I seem to have lost my inspiration and motivation, and can't seem to get it back despite how much I'm trying to. This is not a knock on anyone reviewing, at all. It's purely a personal issue with me because you as the readers are entitled to express your opinions as much as you want, but due to the sheer amount of PM's, and reviews I've received since arc 2 began expressing that this arc is dragging and unnecessary and overdone, I just can't find it in me to keep posting for this. I know this makes me weak and pathetic. I should have a thicker skin, but I think this has been building since my first fic, "perdition", which I felt I literally had to fight my way through in finishing as far as reviews went. I know there are people out there that like this story, and have told me so in the most beautiful way, and I feel like such a failure for not being able to finish this for you guys. But, the light that was there before just isn't there anymore. Knowing how many people hate this story as well as my other one just kind of makes me want to cry. To the point where it's not really fun to post anymore. Again, this isn't a knock on the people who've expressed their opinion regarding the pacing of this story. It probably does drag and I'm just deluded in thinking it doesn't. But, posting my writing used to be fun for me. I used to get excited about it, and now I kind of just dread doing it. I know you're supposed to be able to take all forms of criticism, especially if you want any future in writing, but perhaps this is just a sign that I have no future in it. fanfiction or published. (good thing that's not what I went to college for, I guess) I wish I could just do what i want, but I guess I'm just too sensitive. I pour my soul into writing, to the point where it consumes my entire day. So, being constantly reminded that it's sadistic, or dragging, or overdone, or horribly written, or just too detailed and traumatizing? Well, it does take it's toll. I'm only human, and I've put so many important things second to writing these stories because I've always felt its worth it, and now I don't feel that way. And, may I just interject that that's my fault, not yours. (Again, this didn't start with this story, so I don't want anyone whose expressed their opinion to think they caused this. This is entirely my fucking fault, and damn I'm sorry about it, but I can't keep fighting my way through every post. I can't keep constantly defending why I wrote something a certain way. And, most of all, I can't skip past the details that everyone seems to hate. For this story in particular, I can't skip past Spock's breakdown. I can't skip past his journey. To do so would make the things I had drafted and plotted seem superficial and fake to me. People want to see Spock interacting with Kirk, and I realize that doesn't happen really in this arc, but I just can't skip past this part of Spock's journey purely to get him back with Kirk again, not if I want the things that happen to him as a character in this arc make sense by the end of it. I can't speed it up without shorting myself and feeling like I didn't write what I wanted to. But, I also can't keep posting a story that I know the majority of people hate. Does it make me weak? You bet your ass it does, and fuck do I hate feeling weak, but I'm just being honest. I came into this loving my work, and now I just hate it and have come to resent it. Again, I apologize for to the people who actually do like this story, and are willing to go on Spock's journey with him that would have eventually led him back to Kirk. I apologize for just being too realistic in the sense of how people who love each other can fall away from each other for a lengthy amount of time before finding their way back into the other's arms. People say they don't come to read fanfiction to get a taste of the bitterness of life, and who wants to be the person to remind people how depressing life is? I sure don't. Having said that, I can't gloss over certain things in this kind of experience as far as Spock goes. It wouldn't feel right to me which is why my motivation has just been sucked out of me. I can't re design this without giving you guys shitty writing because it wasn't what I wanted to write, but I also can't continue this knowing how much people are going to hate every chapter. I want to thank each and every one of you for sticking with me as long as you have, and who knows, maybe when I've had time to reflect and revitalize my original reasons for writing in fiction in the first place, I will find my way back to this. I'm so sorry, guys. I've cried a lot today because I love these stories I'm writing, and don't want to leave them unfinished. I even tried to sit down and make myself finish the editing for chapter 16, but the feelings I once had for my work just aren't there anymore. Thanks again, so much, to everyone who stuck by me. I'm not saying I'm completely done with this, but I've just got to get my inspiration back, and I don't know when it's going to happen, so I wanted to come on here and say this so people don't wonder what the hell happened. To those of you that have left me their lovely reviews? I want to apologize to you the most because at the end of the day, you guys are the one's I'm really letting down. I wish I was stronger, but apparently, I just don't live up to my penname. Who would have thought? 


	17. Everybody Hurts

**A.N. Hello again everyone. I apologize in advance for the length of this AN, but I have some things I want to say. Firstly…I had given up on this story, and all of my others ones after just a massive loss of inspiration which I already explained in the AN I posted last week. **

**In regards to that, here I am, and newly inspired, and I have you guys to thank for that. I received such an outpouring of support and well wishes that I lost count of how many comments I cried over. Every single one of you made an impact on me last week during one of my darker moments, and for that? Words cannot convey how grateful I am to you. I've been enlightened, and a fire had been rekindled. I've met and conversed with readers I didn't know I had, and a lot of you have even shared things with me in regards to how this story has connected with you which has just been surreal. You all pushed me forward. You gave me a reason to write again, and I'm here now to tell you that I will be finishing this. Even if I do continue to get negative or hateful reviews and emails…I will prevail, because I know now how much this story is being enjoyed by so many. **

**To the people who have been reviewing since the beginning? Thank you, again, for coming to me in my moment of need. I look forward every week after an update to reading your thoughts, and as for the silent majority? A million thank you's for reminding me that you guys are out there, and reading, and enjoying it. I will never forget you again, and do not feel obligated to leave any reviews you do not wish to. Of course your support is always appreciated and yearned for, but I will not penalize any reader for not leaving their thoughts. It is enough, I think, to have heard what I did in my last AN. And again…Everyone's thoughts and support was just overwhelming in a good way, and had me writing like a mad woman by the latter half of the week to get this out today to ya'll. **

**I do hope everyone enjoys this chapter. It's not my best, and to me it's kind of a stepping stone chapter, but I hope you guys like reading it nevertheless. I have some notes at the end regarding perdition, so be sure to read that. **

**Please enjoy! No beta, all mistakes are my own! **

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Everybody Hurts**

Spock had no doubt as to why, merely ten minutes after Harold returned from his lunch break, the man had been called back into Wesley's office. During that time, an elderly man had come in with a small dermal regenerator in need of repair. Just as Spock was cashing him out thirteen minutes later, Harold had remerged, a scowl on his plump face. It was at that moment that Spock's stomach twisted uncomfortably, but he attributed it to the Chinese food he had just consumed almost an hour and a half ago. He hadn't eaten food like that in some time, and grown unaccustomed to it. He should have foreseen possible complications in the digestion process.

Spock promptly avoided eye contact as Harold continued toward him, but he could not avoid the immense irritation and anger radiating off of the man when he eventually shuffled in beside the Vulcan, the PADD that seemed to be glued to the human's hand, yanked back up off the front desk in an exaggerated fashion. He scrolled through it for a moment, seemingly staring at nothing, before slamming it back down onto the desk.

"Thank you for your business, sir," Spock told the older man in front of him while doing his best to pretend that Harold wasn't being unnecessarily loud.

_"Thank you for your business, Sir,"_ Harold condescendingly mocked him in much too low a voice for the elderly gentlemen to hear, and bent over to retrieve a small toolbox from underneath the desk. Spock assumed he had meant it to be quietly spoken, but the Vulcan had heard him perfectly given his keener senses. He resisted the urge to turn and glare at the human as a result.

"Of course," the man answered, smiled brightly, and indicated to his repaired regenerator. "And, thanks again for fixing this. I've never seen anyone repair something like that so quickly before," he finished amicably, and with a bit of awe in his tone.

Harold sighed loudly at that and let the toolbox drop onto the desk with another loud bang that caused the Vulcan to wince. "Oh for the love of…" he went on to grumble, completely oblivious to Spock's discomfort as well as the customer's growing wariness at Harold's unorthodox behavior. The customer noticed nothing of Spock's pain because he was too preoccupied with staring bemusedly at Harold for being so loud and uncouth. Half a second later, Spock felt his mind tingle uncomfortably as his coworker's jealousy began to roll off of him in waves. Spock had to assume that Harold did not particularly like people giving the Vulcan praise, which was confusing to him. If the customer was overly satisfied with the service he had provided, was that not beneficial for the business as a whole? Why would Harold be upset over that?

"Well again, thanks," the man reiterated in a detached voice given the awkwardness of the situation, and set off back out onto the Manhattan streets.

Spock let his eyes close briefly to quell his throbbing head before turning to regard Harold with narrowed eyes. He resisted the urge to request that the human keep his unprofessional commentary to himself next time; and instead asked thinly, "Do you wish to make a personal query?" If there was something the human wanted to say to him, Spock wished he would just come out and say it. He had grown tired of the back and forth banter, and it seemed that as the day continued to progress, the Vulcan only grew more exhausted despite the lack of manual labor involved in his duties. It was disconcerting to Spock how quickly his energy seemed to leave him as of late. He had definitely made the correct decision in leaving the Enterprise. If he could barely get through a day of repairing electronic equipment without feeling exhausted the entire time, how would he have continued to perform his duties as First Officer and Chief Science Officer?

Such a thought was troubling, and Spock decided to push it to the back of his mind.

For a moment, Harold said nothing to Spock's query. He just looked at him dumbly before he quickly shook his head in irritation, and abruptly turned around and retrieved his coat. He then tugged it on in an exaggerated fashion before coming back over to collect the toolbox he had thrust onto the desk. "I've got a house call to make, so you've got to man the front desk." He paused, and narrowed his eyes. "Can you handle that, Vulcan? Or is that outside your range of intelligence," he finished with another scowl.

Spock permitted his eyes to narrow even further. While it was true that he had constantly been questioning his IQ since Altriri IV, he did not approve of Harold continuously insulting him, and constantly trying to belittle him. Especially when he hadn't even made it all the way through his first day yet. However, being that it _was_ still his first day, Spock refrained from saying anything in response to the insult. He did not wish to start another argument after what had happened earlier that morning. He did not wish to be reprimanded, or, as Wesley had coined earlier, _written up_.

"It will not pose a difficulty. I am confident in this task," Spock settled for in the most impassive voice the Vulcan in him could muster. It was difficult given the man's anger, which seemed quite excessive even for him. It definitely had a way of becoming very overpowering in a short amount of time, and Spock found some relief in knowing that Harold would soon be leaving.

"Just like it posed _little difficulty_ for you to sell me out to the boss, right?" Harold replied instantly, accusation laced in his voice.

"Pardon?" Spock questioned with a raised brow, feigning ignorance. He was not familiar with the idiom, but something told him he knew what Harold had referred to nevertheless. Wesley had told Spock at lunch that he was going to speak with Harold about how he had come into the knowledge of his dishonorable discharge. He hadn't been informed as to an approximate time, but if the discussion that had just taken place between Harold and Wesley back in the office had been anything to do with that, then the human's excessive anger with him at the moment was understandable, even if it still wasn't warranted.

Harold snorted at Spock's request for clarification and stepped closer to him until his nose was inches from the Vulcan's face. Spock wished more than anything that the man would step away from him. He did not wish him to be so close. He never wanted anyone to be that close to him again. He felt too vulnerable, and the chances it would take him to escape—should it come to that—would be lessened given the increased proximity.

"Don't play fucking stupid with me. I know you went and cried your eyes out to Wesley over me knowing about your track record," Harold started vehemently, and went so far as to poke his stubbly finger into Spock's chest. The Vulcan stiffened immediately when the digit pressed into the cloth of his shirt, and he resisted the urge to push the human away from him. Harold was too close, much too close, and his head throbbed sharply as hostile emotions pushed through him. Spock's fear and adrenaline rose exponentially, and as a result, his back itched with the knowledge that the door, _the exit_, was just behind him…waiting to be used. "I just got my ass _chewed_ by Wesley, and on top of that, he wrote me up, and all because of you. That's my second fucking write up. One more, and I get canned," Harold ended in a hiss, his breath washing over Spock in waves. It wasn't pleasant.

"Please step away from me," Spock stated quietly, neither confirming nor denying the man's accusation. At the moment, he merely wanted space. He needed that space, and he did not like being denied it; both in the physical sense, and the mental sense.

Harold scoffed. "Or what? You gonna beat my ass or somethin'?" the man chided him, his feet firmly rooted to the ground defiantly.

Spock's nostril's flared. "I will ask you again, please—,"

"_Harold_. Seriously? Do you want another write up?" Wesley's voice boomed loudly from behind them.

Harold snapped around and made quick work of stepping away from Spock. Though the anger stayed right there with the Vulcan, taunting him with every mental push. "No sir, I was just showing Spock some things so he knows what to do when I leave. You know, being his first day and all…" the human answered sweetly, and straightened his coat out over his shoulders.

Spock's brow rose at the blatant lie, but he lowered it when Wesley turned to stare at him.

"Is that true, Spock?" Wesley asked him, the expression on his face telling Spock that he also knew Harold was lying.

Harold and Spock exchanged a glance—one menacing, and one stoic as ever—before the Vulcan turned back to face Wesley. "Affirmative, Mr. Crawford," he answered, and wondered why he just didn't tell his manager the truth. If what Harold had said was true, and he really did face termination upon a third reprimand, then would it not be beneficial to say the truth?

Perhaps Spock chose to refrain because there was a small part of him that feared Wesley wouldn't do anything about it at all. The Vulcan seriously doubted that his manager would terminate Harold over something like being belligerent toward him. The company was short-handed, and that would likely come before Spock's own personal comfort. Therefore, he would endure. With that being the case, if Spock was going to be working with Harold, then he wanted nothing more than for his relationship with his new coworker to improve. Perhaps he could start that endeavor now by covering up what had just happened.

Instantly following his reply, Spock felt a wave of shock course through him from Harold. Apparently, he'd assumed that Spock would have told the truth, or, _ratted_ him out, as the human would have said. If Harold had known just how adept Spock was at keeping secrets, perhaps he wouldn't be so shocked.

Wesley didn't say anything. Instead he looked suspiciously between them before motioning to the door. "Well, alright then. Harold, you'd better be going if you want to make it to Mr. Leivston's coffee shop in the next hour."

"Yeah, boss," Harold responded uneasily. Spock could feel his mind still reeling in disbelief from the fact that Spock had contributed to his lie. He spared the Vulcan a thoughtful glance before heading to the door and leaving.

He was gone a whole three seconds before Wesley approached Spock at the desk. "Spock, if he keeps giving you trouble, I want you to come to me. I honestly think he's harmless, but still, you don't have to put up with it," he informed him, but Spock could feel his reluctance, which meant that Wesley really _didn't_ want Spock to come to him with a problem regarding Harold. He merely wanted to appear concerned out of some need for politeness that human's assumed Spock required.

He might not require it, but the Vulcan had to admit, it would be nice to feel that a person's politeness was sincere toward him, and not just a front to hide their true emotions.

Spock stiffened at Wesley's comment, and walked away and over to the computer terminal to finish up with work orders. But really, he was just trying to place further distance between himself and Wesley. His throbbing head demanded it. "I will endeavor to do so, Mr. Crawford," he answered tightly, and fixed Wesley with an apathetic stare. He hoped he did not sound impolite, but given his newfound pain; there had been nothing for the curt tone. Harold's anger had been hard to bear, and for a moment, Spock feared he would suffer a nosebleed in front of his new manager. It had not been like this on the Enterprise.

But then again, Spock had been off duty most of the time, and had had the privilege of staying secluded in his room. That was not the case in New York City. He would not obtain seclusion until his shift was over, and even then…the hotel was far from peaceful. Wesley gave him another long look before sighing and retreating back to his office. Spock didn't see him again after that.

When three o'clock arrived and no more customers had come in, Spock decided to utilize his time by cleaning up the shop, which, in his opinion, was quite disorganized. He started with the front desk, and eventually made his way to the varying shelves spread out across the room. He organized everything by the classification of equipment, and then by how new a model it was. Once that was complete, Spock made sure to dust and sanitize everything including the shelves. He used a small stash of cleaning supplies he'd managed to find in one of the cabinets behind the desk to complete such tasks.

The work was tiring (which again, was disturbing to Spock) but it gave him something to focus on. Whenever a customer _would_ happen inside, he would pause whatever he was doing and attend to them. Despite people still staring at him given his Vulcan features, it was far easier to handle the customers without Harold looming over him. Curiosity was a much more benign emotion to process than anger, jealousy, and irritation.

At twelve minutes past four, Spock had just cashed out the last customer, and was watching them walk through the door when Wesley reemerged from his office saying, "did Harold show you the closing dut—," he abruptly paused and took in the reorganized, clean room. His eyes widened. "Whoa. Did you do all this? I saw you moving around a lot on the camera, but wow…" Wesley trailed off in disbelief while tracing his finger over a clean shelf that held an array of lighting equipment on it.

For a moment Spock was unsure how to answer him. What if Wesley did not like the new organization of the store's products? Would Spock be reprimanded for taking it upon himself to reorganize everything?

"Mr. Spock?" Wesley furthered upon gaining no answer.

"You are correct, Mr. Crawford. However, if you do not find it agreeable, I will move everything back," Spock replied hastily and was already moving toward the closest shelf when Wesley halted him.

"Move everything back? What?" Wesley started in shocked bemusement, paused, and waved his hands around to indicate the store. "No, this is great! Wow, I had no idea it could even look like this!" Wesley exclaimed exuberantly, a grin that almost rivaled Jim's plastered on his face.

Spock felt relief surge through him, and immediately relaxed. Until that moment, he hadn't realized how tense he'd gotten upon Wesley's arrival. "I am gratified you approve," he stated quietly, and walked back over to the desk.

Wesley followed after him; that smile still on his face while he let his eyes roam over the store once more. "Oh yeah, I definitely approve," he answered and arrived in front of the desk, his face looking upon Spock's once more. "Seriously though, you didn't have to do this, so thank you. I've been trying to coax Harold into cleaning this place for a couple of months now."

"You should not have to _coax_ him. He is your employee. He should perform the duties that are required of him," Spock answered before he could stop himself, and immediately shut his eyes briefly in dread. Who was he to dictate how Wesley should oversee his business? He held no authority anymore. Just how long would it take him to understand that?

When Spock opened his eyes again, Wesley was staring thoughtfully at him, his emotions slightly bemused and hesitant. Spock inwardly cursed himself for speaking his mind. Now his manager likely saw him as arrogant, and that was not a positive thing. "I apologize. It is not my place to instruct you in such matters," Spock rushed to say.

"No, it's fine Spock. You're right. He should do more around here…" Wesley let his voice trail off as he eyed over the now clean desk. He sighed. "Ah, but what can you do?" he went on jokingly, but with a hint of finality.

_What can you do? You can terminate him,_ Spock wanted to say, but the Vulcan knew by Wesley's tone that he wished the matter to be dropped. Therefore, it would be. "Indeed," he settled for with a purse of his lips. "Mr. Crawford?" he went on in an effort to move on to another subject. He could tell that the one they had landed on was uncomfortable for the human.

Wesley, who had been studying his hand as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, lifted his chin slightly. "Hmm?"

"Two minutes and thirty-three seconds prior, you had posed a query to me in regards to a process Mr. Harold was to have demonstrated before his departure. Do you wish to rephrase your query at this time?"

Wesley stared dumbly at him, which reminded Spock just how difficult it was for people to understand his speech patterns sometimes. He couldn't help the pang of longing that blossomed in his side for Jim as a result. Jim had never had problems understanding him. Jim had never made him feel stupid for the way he spoke, unlike so many others.

Another moment went by in silence before Wesley palmed his forehead. Spock's words had apparently become comprehensible to him. "Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me. I was gonna ask you if Harold walked you through the closing duties."

Spock couldn't repress his irritation at yet another thing his coworker had failed to do. "He did not," he answered curtly, and really was not all that surprised.

Wesley sighed. "It figures. We'll be here even later now," he grumbled before marching around to stand beside Spock at the desk, his steps heavy and laden with annoyance. Despite it logically being Harold's fault for not having shown him the closing duties, he still couldn't help but feel guilty at the fact that he was inconveniencing his manager. "It's all pretty easy. You just…"

For the next hour, Spock followed Wesley back and forth throughout the store while he demonstrated the closing duties in immense detail. They included powering down all of the running equipment; double checking whether or not certain items required recharging overnight or manual maintenance; finalizing all of the day's orders as well as sorting through orders that had come in online; and closing out the register. They were all duties that should have been started at three o'clock, and because they had not been, Spock and Wesley ended up staying an hour later to complete them.

When everything was finished, Wesley clapped his hands together in relieved satisfaction. "Well, that's it. I honestly expected to have to walk you through it more than once, but you seem to be pretty smart. It took me four times before Harold finally could close down the store on his own," he finished in awe. Spock should take pride in the compliment, but he didn't. Wesley had just said that he'd _expected_ to have to show Spock the closing duties more than once; which meant that at some point during the day, the Vulcan had given the impression that such a thing would be necessary.

In other words; he'd somehow given Wesley the impression that he wasn't that smart. Not that it was a lie.

"Will Mr. Harold return to the store?" Spock asked in an effort to quell his self-loathing.

"Nah. When we get house calls this late in the day, Harold just brings the work order in the next day to file it along with the credits. Sometimes repair jobs on big equipment can take awhile. He wouldn't be able to get back in if he came back since technically, we'd both be gone by now, and I don't give him the code," Wesley answered plainly before excusing himself. "I'll be right back. Gotta get my coat, and then I'll show you how to lock up."

Spock nodded and watched as the middle-aged human scampered off to his office. He wanted to question why the human was not content to give Harold a code to lock the store, but decided not to. Instead, he pushed it aside, and went to don his own coat and winter effects. He spared the _Lo Mein_ a glance, and it took him a moment to decide that he would dispose of it once he left the store. It would not keep in the hotel room and he didn't want to upset his stomach by finishing it. But he did not wish to offend Wesley by disposing of it now since the man had paid for it.

He was just putting on his gloves when Wesley returned, a digital card in his hand. "Mr. Spock, are you by chance looking for more work?" he asked hesitantly, and fingered the digital flashing card, which Spock assumed held some sort of information.

Spock straightened up at the question, because yes, he definitely was. "Affirmative, Mr. Crawford. I had intended to possibly search for a second position immediately following my departure from here," he answered, and dreaded said upcoming job search. Truth be told, he was too exhausted to do any sort of _job hunting_, and his migraine was beginning to increase in intensity the later it became. He wished for rest, but his priorities would not allow for such luxuries at the moment. With a Starfleet payment coming up soon, he knew he needed to find a second source of income as quickly as possible, and it would have to be a position that took place primarily at night given his employment with _Barton and Co. Repairs_, which operated during the day; six days a week.

Wesley smiled widely at his response, and Spock schooled his facial features into impassiveness as a surge of excitement flooded from the man and encouraged his migraine to grow in intensity. The reason for that excitement remained unknown, for Spock found _nothing_ exciting about looking for a second job.

"I've got a friend. He's a higher up at a software company called _Global X Solutions_. They provide commercial software for varying businesses, some bigger than others, and anyway," Wesley rushed through as if he'd been going off on a tangent. "He's been hounding me about possibly hiring one of my guys to go around and perform routine maintenance on their products because they're shorthanded. He knows my guys are familiar with computer systems, and I was going to offer this to Harold since he's been here the longest, but honestly, I think you'd be the better guy for the job. Especially with the Class A-7 computer rating."

One of Spock's eyebrows rose with interest. "What exactly would I be expected to do?"

"It's real easy. Every week they'd give you a list of the companies that are using their software, and Monday night through Thursday night you just travel to the places on your list and update the systems; make sure everything is running smoothly, and provide maintenance where you see fit. It all takes place at night since sometimes you've got to put a system or two offline, which could hinder the business running it, but I figure that's good in your case because it would work with your schedule here, and you could work alone," Wesley explained eagerly before adding, "my friend says their having a hard time filling the night time positions. No one wants the graveyard shift, apparently."

Spock tilted his head in thought, his knit hat scratching at the point on his neck where his hair began. It sounded like an agreeable position to Spock. Most likely the best thing he could hope to acquire at night.

"You would think that in the twenty-third century, they'd have a system that could do all that, but unfortunately, we still need a middle man," Wesley commented idly as Spock pondered the offer.

"However, as I would become this _middle man_, it is fortunate for me," Spock answered thoughtfully as relief flitted through him. A relief he tried desperately not to show. For Wesley was right, it _did_ sound perfect for him the longer he thought about it. Working with software, no matter the origin, had always been simple and sometimes relaxing to Spock. Perhaps, despite it still being work, he would actually find it peaceful.

"And, if that's not enough, they would also provide you with a PADD unlike this company, but I know you could use it here as well, which would mean you wouldn't have to go buy another one."

Spock was unable to quell the simultaneous elevation of both eyebrows. "Indeed?" he asked before he could stop himself; a certain _eagerness_ in his voice. The credits toward a new PADD would be able to be spent on something else. Something more important.

Wesley gave him a sympathetic look, but masked it half a second later under the guise of another smile. However, the pity still lingered in the human's mind, and Spock chastised himself for looking so desperate to obtain any job that would provide him credits. It had not been his wish to make his financial situation so glaringly obvious. It was something he would rather keep to himself, but right now? He was doing a horrible job of it.

"So…is that a 'yes' then? Can I comm Morton and tell him to expect you?"

"Before I give an affirmative answer, Mr. Crawford, might I inquire as to the hourly rate of pay?" Spock asked hesitantly. It had not been something he had asked before when he had taken the position at _Barton and Co Repairs_, so he wanted to make sure he inquired about it now. He did not want to be given another position where the pay scale had been cut in half.

Wesley frowned guiltily at the question, but answered anyway. "Morton told me the pay rate is thirteen credits an hour, and usually those _nightlys_ last about four to five hours at a time. You'd go in at seven…_ish_, and leave somewhere around eleven or midnight."

Spock quickly calculated what the increase in income would be, and came to the conclusion that should he accept the position, he would earn an extra 150 to 220 credits a week. Therefore, given that he would also be permitted to perform house calls in the future, Spock concluded that he could possibly bring in 2100 credits a month by taking this second position. While that still only left him 800 credits after the payment to Starfleet was made—which was not a lot compared to what he used to make—that was 800 credits he could put toward rent, groceries, utilities, and other basic necessities.

Errantly, Spock couldn't help but think about his chronic nosebleeds, and how his budget might pertain to them. What if they became worse?

Instantly the Vulcan pushed that troubling thought away. He did not wish to include any allowances for medical necessities into his monthly budget, should that need arise. Not only was it disturbing to think about; but, as Jim would have said, he would cross that bridge when and hopefully, _if,_ he came to it. Spock could not afford to put back credits just _in case_ his health took a turn for the worse. Yes, medical insurance would pay for a segment of it, but Spock had glanced at his benefits in one of the ebook manuals on the computer terminal earlier that day.

Needless to say, he did not have the best coverage out there. So hopefully, he stayed functioning.

"I will accept, Mr. Crawford. Thank you for giving me this opportunity," Spock answered appreciatively.

"Great! I'll comm Morton tonight and let him know. When you come in tomorrow morning, I'll give you a time frame for when he'll want you to start. I put the address for _Global X Solutions_ down on this digital card," Wesley explained enthusiastically and handed the card he'd been holding when he reemerged from his office over to him.

Spock glanced down at it, and saw another piece of information flashing on there as well. He blinked at it and stared back up at Wesley, a slightly bemused expression on his face. The man had put down a website on the card.

Wesley seemed to take the hint. "Oh, that website under there is not related to Global X. It's a website for people looking for roommates. It's all official and neat, so I thought you might appreciate that."

Spock resisted the urge to sigh. He had already made it clear that he did not wish to take a roommate if he did not have to. "Mr. Crawford, while I appreciate this gesture, I do not wish to have a room—,"

"Yeah, yeah, you don't want a roommate. I totally get that," Wesley shrugged off and leaned in over the desk. "But Mr. Spock. I'm telling you. Apartments in New York are _not_ cheap, and whenever you realize that, well, there's that website for you to go to. It's kind of like an online dating site, but for roommates instead," Wesley finished jokingly, and let his laugh trail off at Spock's silence. The joke was had not been lost on Spock; he just hadn't found it humorous.

To him, the term _dating site_ and _roommate_ should never be coined together, for that was one major reason why he did not wish to have a roommate. What if they wanted something from him? Something he…wasn't willing to give? Something like what the High Priest had wanted? How many people would see his body like S'teth had seen it? What would Spock do in that situation?

The Vulcan permitted his fist to tighten over the card he'd just been given before he placed it in his coat pocket. Wesley's eyes watched it disappear, and his lip twitched. Spock felt another twinge of indifference from him for reasons the Vulcan could not discern.

"Thank you, Mr. Crawford. I will take it into consideration," Spock spoke, garnering the human's attention once again. His hands shifted as the indifference disappeared.

"No problem. And if you can't find someone, like I said, I've got a friend who's looking."

Spock angled his body toward the door, a silent indication that he was ready to leave. "I will also take that into consideration," the Vulcan added reluctantly.

Wesley considered him once again, which made Spock illogically nervous, before heading toward the door. Spock grabbed his _Lo Mein _off of the desk and followed. After he was shown how to lock the doors by way of a security code, and reminded _not_ to give the code to Harold, the human turned to him once again. Spock couldn't help but ponder whether or not he was ever going to be given permission to leave tonight.

"Did you walk here?"

Spock was momentarily thrown by the question, but answered nonetheless. "Yes, sir."

Wesley ran a hand through his hair before pulling his coat tighter around himself to encourage more warmth. Spock would have done the same, but he knew it would do little good. He knew he would not get much warmer than he already was, which, wasn't very warm.

"I don't know what hotel you're staying at, but if it's very far, I would recommend the subway system. Especially if you're going to be taking on that night position at _Global X Solutions." _

Spock blinked. In truth, he hadn't even considered the subway system. It hadn't occurred to him because he had never used it before. San Francisco did not have them.

"It's relatively cheap if you buy one of their yearly passes, but I will warn you…it's crowded."

_Of course. What part of New York City is not crowded? _Spock thought in disdain as he slowly nodded his head in acknowledgement. "I thank you for apprising me of this information. I regret that I had not considered that form of transportation yet. Forgive me, I am still adapting to this environment," Spock admitted guiltily, and wondered why he was apologizing.

Obviously, Wesley was wondering the same thing. "No need to ask for forgiveness, Mr. Spock. I figured since you came from San Fran, things might be new to you. Just helpin' you out," Wesley started and peered off in the opposite direction. "Well, I guess I'll see ya' tomorrow. I'll give that guy a call. Thanks for your help today."

"Your gratitude is unnecessary."

Wesley chuckled, but the indifference was back in his mind. "Well, anyway, good night."

"Good night, Mr. Crawford."

After departing _Barton and Co. Repairs, _Spock disposed of his _Lo Mein_ in the nearest public waste dispenser, and set off toward The Bronx; his coat pulled snuggly around him while his teeth chattered in his skull. Given how cold it was, he knew it would probably be more logical to make use of the subway system that Wesley had suggested. However, given how severely his head was hurting, Spock greatly detested getting into a crowded train underground. In fact, the very thought terrified him at the moment. More so than the cold, windy air. He knew though that sooner or later—especially after accepting the second position at _Global X Solutions_—he would have to come to terms with it. He could not walk everywhere. He simply did not have the time, or, on a more chilling note, the energy, anymore.

Once he was back in The Bronx, Spock found a second hand clothing store where he purchased a belt for his uniform pants. He had originally reconsidered the decision to purchase a belt, having come to the conclusion that it really wasn't a necessity at the moment. But after constantly having to pull his pants up amidst his endeavor to clean and reorganize the front of the store, he had reverted back to his original decision. There were also some thick long-sleeved shirts that promised layers of additional warmth for sale, but Spock repressed the urge to buy any of them. The long-sleeved shirts he owned were not nearly suitable enough for the present climate, but he would make due until he acquired more credits, and his payment to Starfleet was made. Everything else would come second. That was the most important thing right now. Not clothing. He could not afford to get behind in payments, lest the late penalties attached to such a thing put him even further in debt.

At the register, the woman behind the counter eyed him abashedly, and Spock winced as her shameless emotions filtered into him. She was confused. Definitely. But also, she was feeling awkward in his presence.

Spock, who had instinctively taken off his hat upon entering the store, hastened to put it on top of his head again. She frowned at him for doing so, but said nothing. Errantly, he wished nothing more than for his hair to be long already so that he could cover his Vulcan features and avoid these humiliating observations he seemed to garner everywhere he went. And, despite being no stranger to being stared at; the fact that he could feel the observer's emotions, which were rarely ever positive nowadays, made it all the more worse.

"That'll be six credits," she stated loudly; shortly, and held out her hand for his credit chip.

Spock obliged her and watched impassively as she scanned it. He absolutely did not think about how his account was now six credits less. "Thank you," he stated softly when she handed it back to him, along with his new belt.

"Have a nice day," she answered in a bored voice before turning back to whatever she had been doing before he approached the counter. He knew a dismissal when he saw one, but he still could not help but attempt some form of human politeness. Humans gave one another well wishes often it seemed. Therefore, it was only logical to attempt to imitate, at least in part, their social habits.

"I request that you endeavor to do the same with your day," he answered, and wondered why he felt the need to embellish the sentiment with so many words. She laughed at his attempt, gave him a look, and went back to her activity again. Spock, who was blushing now, turned and walked out.

On the sidewalk, he dreaded every step that brought him closer to the hotel. He knew he would find no peace there, and he knew he would likely find no sleep either. His head had gotten unbearably painful as the day sped closer to the end. It seemed the biggest feat in the world just to get down the hallway and to his room, and the Vulcan audibly groaned when he opened the door, only to hear and feel the familiar arguing taking place above him. _How long are these individuals going to stay?_ Spock thought desperately as the angered emotions began their assault on him.

He had barely taken his gloves off and walked toward the bed when his nose started to bleed. The newfound pain he experienced sent him down on one knee, and for a moment, all Spock could do was kneel there and attempt to force the pain away from himself like he seemed to be doing every night since coming back to Earth. Suddenly, the idea of setting aside funds to use on medical care didn't seem like something he would be able to avoid for long. As much as he would like to just ignore the chronic nosebleeds, and pretend like they didn't exist, Spock knew that eventually the problem would turn into something more serious if he could not get it under control.

And then what would he do? What would happen if by revealing his nosebleeds to a medical professional, that doctor wished to know more? Wished to discern the underlying cause? What would he do? And, more importantly, what was he prepared to do? To admit?

It was in that moment that Spock wished he didn't have to do anything.

It was such an illogical and emotional thought, but for the first time in his life, Spock wished there was someone else here, someone who cared about him, to make the decision for him. To take the direction of his life out of his hands because from where he was standing—or, kneeling—he honestly had no idea what he was doing, or what he was hoping to accomplish. _Vulcans_ always prided themselves on having a plan; a reason; a purpose.

He had none of these things, and the disturbing part was that he could never imagine getting them back. Not in the way he had had them before.

On that thought, Spock felt like throwing something, and with enough force to break whatever he chose to throw. He was so tired of this. Tired of attempting to keep the pain from swallowing him up. And he was _so_ frustrated as a result of that tiredness. He wanted to get rid of his frustration just like everyone else around him seemed to be doing. Every time he felt someone's anger, or sadness, or irritation, was he not in some way a catalyst? True, they did not know. They were not aware that they were transmitting to him, and logically, Spock should know that and be able to make that distinction.

But it made no difference. Such a distinction was pointless in his eyes.

Spock was receiving every emotion around him. He had become a mere vehicle for every being's feelings. And for once, the Vulcan wished he could be the giver and not the receiver. He wanted someone to know his thoughts. His, dare he say it, _feelings_; because it was times like this, times when he was kneeling on the floor with blood running out of his nose and a migraine that felt like it had crawled out of the singularity that had consumed Vulcan, that the urge to kick and scream became overwhelming. It was such a strange and bizarre urge; this wish to walk up to the first individual he saw, and scream at them. What would he scream? He wasn't sure. He just wanted someone to hear him; to hear his pain and know it was there instead of treating him like he was incapable of feeling it.

He wanted to do these things because it seemed like every day that went by, it became that much harder to look in the mirror and say to himself; _I am Spock_.

**((oOo)) **

**One Month Later:**

The next four weeks passed by very quickly for Spock given how busy he always was. And soon enough, a little over two months had gone by. It had been two months and one week since he had departed the Enterprise.

Since he had departed from Jim.

But despite that basic truth, it hadn't felt like that long. To Spock, his body felt as if the past two months (and the past four weeks in particular) had been years instead. Years of hard, manual labor that required his utmost energy and concentration to perform.

The six days a week at _Barton and Co. Repairs_ coupled with the four night shifts at _Global X Solutions_ had taken their toll on him, and he felt shame to admit to such a thing. He was ashamed at how much his body seemed to tire so easily, or how it had ached and continued to ache with the slightest provocation. He had even resigned himself to sleeping in the bed in the room of the hotel that he had still not vacated for lack of finding an apartment he could afford on his own to quell some of his aches. But _nothing_ had seemed to help him. Every morning Spock had woken up feeling as if he had climbed a mountain, and every night he lay himself down for sleep he felt like he had fallen down that very same mountain.

He was ashamed at how often his nose seemed to bleed after a mentally trying day, and he was ashamed at his inability to do anything about it for fear of someone finding out the truth. He was ashamed over how depressed he had felt after he had made his second payment to Starfleet, and how that payment had left barely enough to pay for the hotel room again for another week, the bill for his communicator service, and food despite the added income from his second job. He was ashamed of still residing in that hotel room at all, because he should have already acquired his own place by now, and he hadn't.

But most of all, he was ashamed by the fact that performing the day-to-day functions that so many other humans seemed to perform with ease were so hard for him to carry out. It was not so much the technological aspects of his job, for Spock's duties on the Enterprise had been far more difficult than what was now expected of him on Earth, and far more important. But rather, it was the social aspect of it, and the lack of just being able to take a break from the minds constantly around him. Even when he was taking the subway all across New York City to update computer systems for _Global_ _X Solutions_, which had largely been a quiet occupation given the hours, he could never seem to give his mind the rest it kept shouting for. Every day had been an ongoing struggle. Every day had felt like something the Vulcan had had to talk himself through just to endure it.

It had only been two months, and he was _still_ having to convince himself every morning that today would be better.

The only positive thing the Vulcan could say about his life at the moment as he walked back in from the cold city from his lunch break to a scowling Harold, was that at least in the past four weeks his hair had managed to become long enough to cover the tips of his ears, and his elevated eyebrows, making his hat unnecessary indoors when he was not at work. Now, aside from the green tinge to his skin, he looked entirely human.

Now, not so many people stared at him.

"Took you long enough. I've been starving here," Harold complained angrily as he bumped Spock's shoulder on his way out into the city streets. Despite a month having gone by, and Spock's wish to reach a better understanding of one another, their relationship had not improved. Given the emotions radiating off of the man as he brushed by, they were not likely to, either.

Spock refrained from clarifying that he had actually returned from his lunch break fifteen minutes early, (he rarely ate on his lunch breaks anyway, so an hour seemed wasteful to him) and walked over to the desk; the PADD that _Global X Solutions_ had given him in hand. He did not spare his coworker another glance. In the past month of working with Harold, Spock had come to learn that silence and general avoidance seemed to be the most logical route to utilize. Especially after the man had been told he would have to share the allotment of house calls that came in with Spock. That conversation had not gone very well, and Spock hadn't been able to remember the last time he'd felt anger so raw from another human being. If he had to pick a specific point in time though, his last meeting with Marcus would have been it.

Spock remembered that day with Harold well, because it had been one of the worst days he'd had since coming to New York City. Not only had he barely been able to make his payment to Starfleet that day, but he'd also realized that no, he would _not_ be able to afford an apartment on his own. Wesley had been right. If he wanted to leave the hotel—which he desperately did, because a hotel could not serve as a permanent residence for many reasons—he would have to live with another being to share the financial burden.

That…had been difficult for Spock to come to terms with; and even now, almost two weeks later following that horrible day of financial loss and dreadful realization, the Vulcan still wasn't sure he had come to terms with it.

"Hey, Spock. I've got a work order I need you to put a rush on. I'd have Harold do it, but you're way faster than him," Wesley's voice sounded from the entrance to the back hallway.

Spock, who was glancing down at spec manual on his PADD in an attempt educate himself on a new model of replicator that had just come out four days ago, peered up and nodded. "Of course, Mr. Crawford. I will attend to it immediately," he answered promptly, placed his PADD gently on the desk, ignored the rumbling in his stomach from the want of a lunch he hadn't eaten, and opened up the orders on the computer terminal to find the one that had been marked _'rush'_.

"Awesome. Thanks, Spock. Knew I could count on you," Wesley answered in a relieved tone before retreating back to his office.

The Vulcan watched him go before permitting himself a small sigh. He found Wesley to be an agreeable, and even likable man. But lately, Spock couldn't help but feel that he was being given most of the work while Harold didn't seem to have work that much at all.

For example, Spock had found that he was always given the more difficult work orders; and when it came to house calls, he seemed to always be the one sent on the calls dealing with the most complex equipment. Of course, he knew it was only because Harold was incompetent at his job as well as slow, and Spock was more than capable of performing his duties to the highest degree and in an efficient and speedy manner. However, even with those obvious differences between them, that did not make it fair in Spock's eyes. Yes, he _had_ served in two major positions on the Enterprise. Two _leading_ positions, which had meant that his workload had been considerably more than that of the other crewmembers. But that had been different. Much different.

In his current situation, Spock couldn't help but resent the fact that while his workload increased, and Harold's decreased, his hourly rate of pay stayed the same. It bothered him that while he was only making eight credits and hour, which wasn't even the standard rate for his position, Harold was making fourteen as he had so proudly boasted four days ago when Spock had come back from a house call thoroughly exhausted and in pain given how emotional the customer had been toward him. How…_lustful_ they had been.

"_You think you're somethin' don't ya, taking my house calls and all. Well just remember that I still make more than you. The boss still values my skills more, Vulcan." _

Spock knew Harold had spoken out of anger and jealousy, but he still couldn't stop it from bothering him. For one thing, while Spock relished the financial bonuses of house calls, he hated going on them. Going to a place of business to repair something was acceptable to him, but whenever Spock had been made to travel to someone's apartment, he couldn't help but feel nervous the entire time. He did not like being alone with people in their apartments; especially on the off chance that he felt attraction from them. As had been the case of the dwelling he had just returned from. The woman who lived in the apartment had constantly made excuses to touch him, and it had gotten unbearable. It was the reason he completed the calls so quickly. To sooner he finished repairing whatever it was, the sooner he could leave and either go home (if they had closed by the time he finished), or return to the store. The store had surveillance. The store was a public place. The store, despite Harold's constant presence darkening his mind, felt safe.

More than once, Spock had considered approaching Wesley about his concerns, and inquiring to his manager about possibly getting an increase in his hourly rate, but had reconsidered the idea time and time again. What if he was met with hostility? What if Wesley took him off house calls altogether? Or lowered his rate to the agreed upon 'six' when Mr. Glanstein had first hired him? Or even worse, terminated him, or got him terminated from _Global X Solutions_ given he was friends with the man who had hired Spock? If any of those things came to pass, it would have all been because Spock hadn't wanted to do more work, which would just have been unacceptable.

In fact, now that Spock was thinking about it again, it sounded utterly pathetic in his mind. He shouldn't be complaining about doing more work than Harold without due compensation. If Wesley didn't think him capable, then he wouldn't entrust him with the increased work. He wouldn't trust him with the more complex equipment. Did Spock really want to put an end to that trust because of discrepancies in the workload? Was he really worth the possible difficulties it could bring forth?

Perhaps before, Spock would have thought so, but not now.

Spock had barely opened the work order when two people walked in. One of them appeared to be considerably older than the other, who appeared to be a teenaged human male, which led Spock to the assumption that perhaps he was the other's son, and the older man was his father.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. How can I be of service?" Spock asked routinely.

The older man with thinning red hair met eyes with him and smiled, while the younger set off to the litany of holoplayers set up just across from Spock's desk. They had just received them a week prior, which had excited Wesley because apparently, the particular model they'd gotten was very popular. "I want the biggest one in here, dad!" the human teenager exclaimed in excitement, which made his father chuckle.

"It's my son's fourteenth birthday, and I promised him a new holoplayer. Heard this place is pretty reasonably priced. Which one of these would you recommend?"

Spock opened his mouth to answer just as the man's son turned one of the holoplayers on in an attempt to most likely to see for himself which one he wished to choose. The face depicted on the holoplayer though was one that the Vulcan had not been prepared to see.

In a manner of seconds, there on the screen and right in the middle of _Barton and Co. Repairs,_ was Jim's bright, beautiful, and animated face. His hair was different than when he had last seen it, and he was speaking to the camera, which meant he was most likely speaking with an interviewer. Judging by the date in the bottom left-hand corner of the screen, it had been an interview taken just over a year ago. In fact, if Spock's memory served him correctly, it had been filmed the day Jim had relieved Captain Pike from duty, and taken over the Enterprise. Jim's inauguration ceremony no doubt, for why else would his former captain be dressed in such a way, and standing outside of the Starfleet Academy auditorium?

Spock nearly sank to his knees as he took in that radiant smile. He had once thought Wesley's smile rivaled Jim's, but looking at it now, he wondered why in the world he would ever make such a comparison. Jim's smile was perfect. There was nothing in the universe that would ever rival it. Especially the one being given now, which indicated just how happy his former friend was.

Given the date, it was no wonder why Jim appeared so…happy. Happiness was an emotion Spock had gotten so out of touch with, and yet, seeing it there, expressed so easily and fluidly on Jim's face, reminded him that somewhere out there, it did still exist.

Spock watched in a daze, completely memorized as Jim's voice, a voice he had not heard in so long, filtered through the room and invaded his senses; making him completely forget about the other two individuals in the store. The interviewer had just asked a question, but Spock had been so taken off guard with the sudden visual presence of Jim that he had not heard the question.

"_My greatest asset as a Captain?" _the Jim onscreen paused and pursed his lips_. _Spock wasn't aware that he pressed his own lips together in response_. "My crew, definitely. They're amazing people. Every single one of them. And with them behind me, I know we can do anything out there,"_ Jim answered confidently, which was yet another thing Spock had gotten out of touch with. The Vulcan hadn't realized back then when this interview had been given just how enamored he would later become with that same confidence. And how in his darkest and most challenging hour, he would not be able to exhibit the same kind of confidence that Jim had been able to exhibit so effortlessly.

Despite his depressed musings, Spock felt an odd warmth travel across his fingers and up his arms until eventually his cheeks were basking in it while he listened and watched the most important person in his life talk about his future on the Enterprise. In the background, he thought he could hear someone asking him something, going silent, and then asking him again, but he paid it no attention. He might have answered, but again, the only thing that mattered to him at that moment was his Captain, _Jim_, just there on the screen. Just feet away, yet…not.

_I don't __**care **__enough about you anymore to stop you._

Spock wished he could return that statement in regards to Jim. Spock wished that he could stop caring about him like Jim had done. Over the past two months, he had started to think that maybe he was starting to miss the human less and less. Spock had told himself that all that was required was time apart to quell his complex feelings for the human he had spent a year in space with.

Yet, if the sight of the young captain on the holoplayer told him anything, it was that _nothing_ had diminished in two months. Nothing had been _quelled_. Everything remained as complex as it had been the day he had walked out of Jim's quarters, and off of the ship. His feelings had stayed the same. Not even the fact that Jim had had him dishonorably discharged had changed the way he felt, and he hated that. Spock had never thought he could long for a person so intensely in his life. There was a small part of him that wanted to close his eyes, thereby stopping the source of his pained longing which had spurred such self-hatred within him. But despite every bone in his body telling him to do so, Spock could not tear his gaze away. He was completely transfixed by the aura of James Kirk.

But then it was over.

Jim's face disappeared from the screen, and Spock hated the way his body inhaled sharply, and how his fingers twitched with the urge to rewind the scene and play it over again just to _see_ him again. He resisted his emotional urge though, and instead another face, a human one still, took to the screen. This man was clad in Starfleet gold, had attractive and strong features, and did not appear to be too much older than Jim. Given the environment; Spock deduced the footage had been taken at Starfleet Academy some months ago.

"_With the resignation of Commander Spock, the position of First Officer has been given to that of Commander Gary Mitchell, who graduated from the Academy four years ago. Mitchell had intended on serving on the U.S.S. Ptomley last year as Captain Ramirez' First Officer; but due to a delayed mission in the Alpha Quadrant, he was unable to take that post…"_ another voice, this one male instead of female like the prior interviewer, spoke in voiceover as the footage continued showing the apparently _new_ First Officer of the Enterprise engaged in combat training at the Academy.

Spock eyed the _new_ First Officer, and a second later his chest and side filled with an emotion he could not identify. Suddenly though, before he could make sense of it, the screen shifted yet again to that of Admiral Marcus. The emotion Spock felt for him could definitely be identified, and it was dislike. Extreme dislike, and perhaps even a bit of fear. There was a part of Spock that thought he should feel anger too, but he couldn't bring himself to feel it. Why should he be angry at Marcus? He really had no right to be. All of his anger these days was directed at himself.

"_The former Commander Spock was a great First Officer, and certainly one of a kind, but I have no doubts that Gary Mitchell will be able to fill those shoes just as well, if not better given the Federation's current situation. Commander Mitchell was an outstanding student at the Academy, and while he didn't graduate with the same honors that Mr. Spock did, technically, he's had more experience in the field, which is something we at Starfleet could really use right now,"_ Marcus spoke, his voice confident and determined.

Marcus' summation made Spock feel like someone had punched him in the abdomen. While it was true that before being assigned to the Enterprise under Captain Pike, Spock had only been a professor, he had never seen that as a negative aspect where it pertained to his position as First Officer; and especially after the _Narada_ incident. But that wasn't the only reason for the hollow feeling beginning to grow and fester in his side. While he knew it was inevitable that the Enterprise would eventually have to replace him, it still hurt to think about. It still hurt to hear it confirmed there on a holoplayer in an electronic repair store on Earth; a store where he was supposed to be attempting to sell said holoplayer, and instead was completely ignoring everything else but the images coming out of it.

Spock had known it would happen, but hearing it out loud had only confirmed what he wasn't quite ready to come to terms with just like everything else in his life. He was not ready to have it confirmed that he had been replaced; and apparently, by someone better than him. Which, given the events of the past few months, would not have been that difficult to achieve.

Instead of Spock, it would be _Gary Mitchell_ who got the privilege of protecting Jim during all of the Enterprise's missions. Instead of Spock, it would be _Mitchell_ who brought Jim reports to be reviewed and signed off on; who gave him advice and counsel when requested; who would help him perform inspections of the varying departments on the ship. And, the worst part was, it would be _Mitchell_ who sat across from Jim in his quarters, playing three-dimensional chess with a board that Jim had likely already replaced.

Mitchell would move the opposing pieces instead of Spock.

Almost as quickly as the hollow feeling appeared, another feeling joined its place. This one more primitive and hostile in nature. Jealousy. Spock was _jealous_ that instead of him being the one to do these things; to exist in the one place he had once called a home and felt he belonged; it was going to be _Mitchell_ instead.

_You do not deserve to be jealous. You are not there simply because you do not deserve to be. Look around you. This is where you belong. Away from those you are a danger to, _Spock told himself, and hated the way his inner voice sounded. He hated how bluntly it spoke the truth when it was the last thing he wanted to hear at the moment.

"_So there you have it, folks. Of course, given the distance of the most popular ship in the Fleet right now, both Captain Kirk and First Officer Gary Mitchell are unavailable for an interview, but from what has been confirmed by Starfleet last week, the Enterprise is leaving her trail in a big way across the galaxy. To say the least, the public's opinion seems to be that one James Kirk is living up to his father's legacy, and all of us back home are excited to watch that journey unfold,"_ the voiceover spoke again, only this time, the picture had reverted back to old footage of Jim at his inauguration ceremony, shaking hands with Admiral Pike, and then turning to face the crowd as they cheered for him. The camera zoomed in on Jim's face, and Spock found himself once again lost in those blue eyes. The chronic nightmares Spock had been having that sometimes featured him had not done him justice. Not at all. And Spock wondered if that was something he should be grateful for? Or weary of.

Spock blinked in spite of himself when the screen went black. Someone had shut the player off, and a second later a hand waved itself obscenely close in front of his face, to the point where he could feel the air just in front of his face that the hand had managed to stir.

He abruptly took a step backward out of instinct.

"Uh, yeah, hello? Are you even listening to me? You don't talk to potential customers that way," an annoyed voice sounded from off to the side, making Spock wrinkle his brow in confusion. He turned his head slowly and canted it. For a moment, he had forgotten why they were there before it all came back to him. It was the older man, the father, who had spoken, and by now his son had come to stand beside him, the holoplayer completely forgotten.

On that thought, Spock turned his head back to face the screen of the holoplayer, stupidly wishing it would come back on so he could see Jim's face again before the program ended. That was the wrong thing to do judging by the wave of frustration that flowed into him from the older man.

"Are you kidding me? Hello! We're right here, not there! Is something wrong with you? I asked you the same question like three times, and you had the audacity to tell me to _one moment _so you could watch some holoshow!_" _

Spock's eyebrow rose in bemusement. Had he said that? He didn't remember saying that, but then again, once Jim's face had invaded the screen, he had tuned everything else completely out. If he _had_ said something like that, then it was no wonder why the human had gotten so angry. That was definitely not a way to talk to a customer.

"Is this how you run your business? By helping your customers whenever you feel like it?" the father asked, or rather, _yelled _again and took a step closer to the desk, his cheeks reddening by the second. Both of the humans, Spock noted dreadfully, were looking at him strangely, and given their emotions, had become quite irritated and angry with him. Spock winced as his migraine chose that second to remind him that, _yes, I am still here and gaining momentum every time you make a mistake. _

As much as Spock detested their anger, he could not blame them for it. The entire time Jim had been on that screen, and they had been speaking about him and his new First Officer, Spock had mentally checked out. Everything had come second in the face of that moment, and he felt like hiding in a closet for how shameful and pathetic just seeing his former captain had the ability to make him. His life was here in this store now. Not up there amongst the stars, and because of his pathetic longing for something he had never deserved to be a part of, he had mistreated a customer, which led to a ninety percent probability that he would lose a sale.

"Shit man, seriously? I'm fuckin' talking here!" the man yelled again, yet Spock could not find the words to say. He should apologize. He should admit his error, but his head was throbbing so severely that just moving his jaw hurt. He did not understand why emotions aimed at him were so detrimental, and he did not want to begin to understand why the mere picture of Jim, and the prospect of him moving on with another First Officer had troubled him so.

The man sighed loudly, slammed his hand down on the desk, and started peering off in all directions. "That's it. I wanna speak to a manager. Get me your manager. I'm not wasting my time with you anymore," he boomed, his eyes still searching the store for what Spock deduced was a manager.

_I don't __**care**__ enough about you anymore to stop you. _

Spock paled at the inner comparison, and wondered just why his mind chose to bring that particular memory back up. The situation in front of him had absolutely nothing to do with what had happened in Jim's quarters. Yet, he could not escape it. Why could he not move past it? Why?

"I'm Wesley Crawford, the manager, how can I help you today, gentlemen?" an anxious and slightly angered Wesley sounded as he emerged from the office, his eyes quickly glancing at Spock before they trained back on the father and son.

Spock felt his heartbeat quicken at the thought that Wesley had likely seen everything that had just happened on his cameras. And, if he hadn't, then given how loud the customer had become, he'd probably heard it. Both were not agreeable scenarios, Spock decided. And it was all happening because of his inability to keep his emotions pertaining to his old life at bay.

When the father caught site of Wesley, his eyes narrowed even further and he waved his hand in Spock's direction. Spock elected to remain silent. He really wasn't sure if he could speak yet anyway, and he wouldn't be surprised if his nose chose to bleed again.

"Yeah, you can start by explaining to me why you allow idiots to work for you. I stood here literally, for almost _two_ minutes asking this dumbass—," and here, the man turned and eyed Spock with furious distaste before turning back to Wesley, "for help in finding a holoplayer for my son. He completely ignored me, and when I asked him for help again, which is what he's getting _paid _for, he tells me to hang the hell on. Is this how you run this place? Help your customers when it pleases you?" the man finished vexingly, his anger now the only thing Spock could feel in the room. It made him want to hold his head.

"Spo…he said that?" Wesley asked as his alarmed eyes flashed over at Spock. It was obvious he was completely shocked by the man's summation of events. He was not the only one.

The other man stiffened and put his hands on his hips. The anger grew more intense. "Oh, so you're calling me a liar now?"

Wesley looked horrified at the effect his response had had. "What? No! no, of course not! That's just not like him," he explained in a genuine bemusement that Spock understood completely. It _wasn't_ like him, and honestly, the Vulcan was having a hard time believing he would say such a thing. However, as he really had no memory of it given how zoned out he had become, he could not say it hadn't happened.

"Did you say that to a customer? Did you tell him to hold on?" Wesley turned and asked him, disbelief scattered throughout his voice.

Despite not wishing to speak, Spock took a deep breath and opened his mouth. But…what would he say? If he were being honest, he would say he did not know what he had said. Because truthfully, he really _didn't_ know if he had said what the human had stated he had. But somehow, that seemed like the wrong thing to say. It was not an out and out denial, but it was close enough to one that the Vulcan risked angering the customer further. Not only would that lose a sale, but it would bring Spock more painful emotions to deal with.

"I regret that I did. I apologize. It was not my intention to cause offense," Spock answered quietly, and flinched as a sharp surge of disappointment shredded into him from Wesley.

"Well, you caused offense bud, and you lost a sale. I won't be buying anything from here. Not when you allow any Tom, Dick, and Harry to come in and work for you. You can bet your asses I'm calling your corporate line, too," the father added harshly, and grabbed his son by the shoulder to spur him toward the door.

"Wait, you don't have to leave, sir. Perhaps there's something I can do for you today for the trouble we've caused you. It would be my pleasure," Wesley rushed to say, which made Spock feel even worse. He knew what was going to happen. Wesley would either give them free merchandise, vouchers, or take a large percentage off of the final price, and it was all because of Spock and his inability to let go of the past. His inability to adapt to the world he had chosen for himself.

The man paused at that, shared a look with his son, and nodded in silent affirmation. Spock felt Wesley's relief and watched as the man's tense shoulders relaxed just a fraction.

"But, I'm not dealing with him. I don't come here and spend credits to get shitty customer service, so you get me someone else," the man furthered defiantly, his eyes glaring in Spock's direction.

Wesley nodded quickly. "Of course, sir. I'll actually see to you personally." And why would he not? Spock knew that Harold was still gone to lunch, which left just himself and Wesley. There was no Gary Mitchell here to replace him for Wesley as had been done for Jim.

Quickly, Spock quelled his thoughts as they once again turned back to the new First Officer of the Enterprise. Had he just not berated himself for permitting his thoughts to linger on what used to be his? On a life that was no more? What was wrong with him?

"Thank you," the customer responded curtly as some of his anger—but not all of it—died away.

"Of course," Wesley responded and turned to walk toward Spock. He leaned his head in toward the Vulcan and whispered harshly, "_Go wait in my office. Don't leave until I get in there. I'll be there as soon as I take care of this." _

Spock internally winced at the furious inflection, but obeyed nevertheless. He grabbed his PADD, which he did not wish to leave lying around unattended once Wesley decided to come back to his office, and headed toward the back. Once he was there, he considered something and turned back around. "I do apologize, sir," Spock attempted again. Why? He wasn't sure. He just felt it needed to be reiterated.

The man glared at him, and Wesley's nostrils flared. "Spock, just go," he furthered quietly. Spock nodded, turned back around, and disappeared through the door. The only positive thing about the entire exchange was that once he walked into the small office and closed the door, the foreign emotions lessened in their intensity. The holoplayer that showed the front of the store was set up on one of the shelves, and Spock watched nervously as Wesley set to helping the father and his son. He thought about pondering the consequences of what had just happened, but found that to be much too difficult to think about. He could lose his job today, and all because of his weaknesses. How had he managed to serve on a Starship for a year when he could barely manage a month in an electronic repair shop?

Spock shook his head. He had just told himself he wouldn't think about it. He wouldn't think about it until Wesley came back and he was forced to think about it.

Instead, Spock pulled out his PADD to check his inbox. After realizing he wouldn't be able to afford an apartment on his own, Spock had visited the website that Wesley had provided him with, created a profile, and sent out inquiries to individuals seeking roommates based on their own profiles; which listed things like the borough they resided in, the apartment they had, their pet peeves, their hobbies, their cleaning habits and the cleaning habits they expected in a roommate, and the financial information a possible tenant would need to be apprised of before submitting an inquiry. Such information had narrowed down the profiles quite a bit for Spock, given he required a specific price range.

And, if he could help it, Spock would rather live with someone who exorcised a peaceful lifestyle.

However, despite his effort to reach out, when Spock opened his inbox and read through the messages sent back from the people he'd sent the inquiries to, his heart sank. Every single profile he'd seen that was appealing to him had turned him down. For a moment, Spock felt like throwing his PADD up against the wall, but he knew that would get him nothing but a broken PADD that he would have to replace since it technically wasn't his to begin with. It belonged to the other company he worked for.

Spock knew he should just power down the PADD and wait for Wesley to return, but he couldn't stop himself from reading the reasoning's for why he was turned down by every person. The main two excuses he found were somewhere along the lines of: _'I don't think I can room with a Vulcan. I'm not nearly reserved enough for that,' _and, from the female profiles he sent inquiries to, _'I'd prefer a female roommate. Sorry'_.

By the end of them, Spock regretted his decision to read the responses, for they became all the more creative the further down the list he traveled. With a loud sigh, the Vulcan powered the PADD down and held it face down in his lap. Not only was he unable to do his job, but he couldn't even find a roommate. A part of him was relieved that he had not found one, because it meant he would not have to live with another person. But there was another part of him that was largely saddened, much to his shame. Because not only was he unable to do his job adequately, but he couldn't even find someone who wished to live with him. Was he that detestable?

_The High Priest had wanted you to live with him…_a sinister voice sounded within him, but before Spock could even become shocked at the horrifying thought, Wesley had returned. His manager threw the door opened, walked inside, and Spock felt the man eye him before roughly slamming the door, which prompted sharp pangs from his migraine.

Spock tensed and winced as the man's anger flooded the room with him, and for a moment, he considered bolting. He did not wish to be around Wesley when he was this angry, and in a small, closed off on top of that. It was painful, it terrified him for reasons he had been trying so hard to come to terms with, and, if he was going to be fired, then he didn't need to stay anyway, right?

The Vulcan sat there for a full minute, all the while enduring the temptation to leave, before Wesley finally treaded on into the room and fell down into his chair, his head in his hands. The anger was still there, but now fatigue had joined it. Spock was no stranger to fatigue, and he hated how another's only increased his own. He couldn't avoid the way his body sagged in response.

"I had to practically _give _away one of those new holoplayers, Spock. Do you know much those cost us to begin with? And all because of your fuck up. So, I'm going to give you a chance to explain yourself before I just lose my shit. What the hell happened up there? Did you really cut that guy off like he said you did? Did you really ignore a customer? I mean, that's not like you!" Wesley exclaimed, his voice ending in shocked disbelief.

Spock tightened his fists around his PADD before answering. He decided that the truth would be best in this scenario. Wesley was not a customer. There was no sale at risk in this case.

_It is only your job at risk, _Spock thought sardonically as he opened his mouth. "If I am to be honest with you—,"

Wesley stopped him with his fist as he brought it down onto the table with a loud bang like the customer had done moments ago. Spock's knees shifted with the want to make an exit. "Spock. You'd better be honest with me. Like, I'm not even kidding with you right now. That customer not only made off with one of our most expensive products, but he's also told me he might call corporate. I really don't need that goddamn headache right now," he deadpanned, his anger becoming even more striking.

Spock felt a surge or resentment for Wesley. His anger was understandable, but he did not understand why Harold had never garnered this treatment. Harold, who was rude to more customers that Spock cared to count, had never been reprimanded in such a way. Spock knew that because the anger Wesley had always felt toward Harold in those moments was not nearly as intense as it was right now. And why? Why was Wesley more laxed with Harold, but not with Spock? It did not make sense to the Vulcan, which in turn, only made him confused and frustrated. Both were emotions he would rather not feel, for he already felt them on a near constant basis. Wesley mentioned his want to avoid headaches, but Spock merely wished to keep his at a tolerable level for once in his life.

"I will always endeavor to be honest with you, Mr. Crawford. I merely stated such a thing because what I stated out in the store was not the complete truth."

Wesley wrinkled his brow in bemusement, and a sliver of wariness came through to him. "What's that mean?"

"It means that I do not exactly remember saying what the customer stated that I did. My attention was elsewhere, but I did not surmise that the customer would find that an agreeable answer." Spock clarified. It was not something he wanted admit, but he saw no other option. It was what had happened, after all.

Wesley sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you mean, '_elsewhere_'. Like, you were daydreaming or something? I don't understand what you're trying to say."

Spock straightened up and took a deep breath. How should he phrase his explanation in such a way so as to not give away the real reasoning for his distraction? He could not come out and say, _I saw Jim on the holoplayer, and I saw the man who is taking my place by his side, and it bothers me to such a high degree that I feel it is hard to function. And I am even more disturbed by the fact that I have absolutely no right to be as bothered as I am. _

"The customer's son turned on one of the holoplayers, and I regret that the program playing drew my attention in a most surprising way. It is unacceptable, and I apologize. I should not have permitted myself to become distracted so easily, and I should not have permitted that distraction to extend toward a customer. I will of course understand your decision to terminate my employment, and will take my leave in a professional and calm manner," Spock explained quietly, his eyes not quite meeting Wesley's.

For a long moment, Wesley did not say anything. However, Spock, who was peering down at his hands, visibly relaxed when he felt a large portion of the man's anger dissipate from the room. What had he said to cause that?

"I'm going to take a wild guess here and assume that the program you saw had something to do with the Enterprise, right?"

Spock peered up at him sharply, but remained silent, which was all the confirmation Wesley needed.

"Uh-huh. Thought so," Wesley added knowingly and sighed. "Look, Spock. I'm not going to fire you. For one thing, I can't afford to fire you, and for another…I can kinda understand why you would get distracted by that. That is the ship you used to be on, after all, and in a pretty big way."

"Indeed," Spock said in barely above a whisper, his eyes looking down again.

"But I will have to write you up. If that guy does call corporate, I've at least got to show them that I took some kind of action," Wesley furthered reluctantly.

Spock nodded. "I understand, sir."

"And, I'm also gonna go ahead and send you home as soon as Harold gets back."

The Vulcan peered back up again. "Sir?" he asked in that shamefully timid voice he had begun to realize could be produced from his vocal chords. He did not want to be sent home, which was laughable really because he didn't even have a home. He lived in a hotel, and _that_ was the furthest thing from a home.

Wesley sighed again. "I'm sorry, Spock. I know you need the hours, but you've obviously got something weighing heavily on your mind. Perhaps a bit of rest will do you good."

Spock opened his mouth to assure his manager that he did not need rest. He needed hours. Rest did not give him credits. Hours did. If he was back at his hotel pretending to rest, he was not accruing anything in his account to go toward whatever future was left for him.

"Plus," Wesley started loudly in a clear attempt to discourage Spock from speaking. "If that guy comes back, I don't think it would look good to still have you up here today. He was very angry. I mean, you saw him, Spock. You know just how angry he got. I know you haven't worked in retail very long, but one thing you need to know is that customers are very, very fickle people. Some of them are easy going, but some of them are like a bomb just waiting to blow. This guy was that bomb, Spock, and unfortunately, you got caught in the middle of it."

Spock nodded slowly. He was not sure he understood completely what Wesley was trying to convey by discussing what constituted a customer's behavior patterns, and using a bomb as a frame of reference for said behavior, but he understood his dilemma with having the father and his son possibly come back to see if action had been taken against Spock, and finding him still at the front desk. "I understand, sir."

"Okay then, go ahead and go back to the front. I'll officiate the write up when you leave. You'll have to sign it."

"Understood," Spock answered instinctively, refused to meet Wesley's eyes, and rose up and out of the chair to return to the front of the store.

Almost forty-five minutes later, Harold returned from lunch and grumbled his way back behind the front desk. Spock was already heading back toward Wesley's office before the human could even start up his PADD as was the routine.

"Hey! Where you think you're going?" the man questioned in confusion, but Spock ignored him. It was not his business where he was going, and he repressed the urge to tell him so. He had made enough errors today with his behavior. He did not need to add to it.

Spock had never been officially reprimanded; or, as Wesley liked to call it, _written up_. Despite the simplistic nature of it, it was a difficult thing for Spock to do because anyone who chose to look at his work file would see it. Just like anyone who chose to hire him saw his dishonorable discharge. He did not like it, and he did not like how heavy it made him feel despite it being weightless.

"Is this all that I am required to do?" Spock asked once he finished giving his digital signature on one of Wesley's PADDs.

"Yep. That's it. You can go now," Wesley answered in a detached voice, yet Spock could feel the man's sympathy for him. It made no difference. He had been written up regardless, and would have been written up with or without the man's pity.

Spock nodded, and headed back toward the door. If there was one thing good about getting sent home early, perhaps it was the fact that by returning to the hotel during the day, it would not be as populated. The tenants were likely to be out in the city, and therefore, the building would be less crowded. Perhaps Spock could manage to get some sleep and ease his migraine.

He had barely opened the door when Wesley spoke again. "Spock," he started, and waited for the Vulcan to turn around. Reluctantly, Spock did so.

"I know that Starfleet was a big part of your life, and that you did a lot of things on that ship. I know it has to be hard to not be there anymore."

Spock blinked at the man, and wondered where he was going with this.

"But…you've got to let that go. If you were really so distracted today that you weren't even coherent to a customer, then obviously you've got some unfinished business with Starfleet, or someone in it, and as much as I sympathize with you, I'm running a business here. I need my employees to have their head in the game. So, whatever it is about that ship that's still got you hooked, you've got to let it go. You've got to get over it. That's not your life anymore. You said it yourself. It's time to start dedicating yourself to this life. Not your old one out there in the stars."

Spock stared at Wesley. There was a part of him that wanted to argue with him. That wanted to tell him just how important that ship, and specifically the captain manning it, was to him. That where his head was, was not really his business. He wanted to tell him that because of those feelings, it was not so simple to just _let it go_ and _get over it. _

But, Wesley had a point.

Spock knew that despite the harsh wording, Wesley was right. The Enterprise—_Jim_—was no longer a part of his life. It was not a part of him. He was completely outside of it now, and instead of fantasizing about what might have been, and regretting what had actually happened, he should be focusing on adapting to where he was now. He should be focusing on his credits, and his job. He should not be upset by being replaced because it had nothing to do with him. He should not be upset about Jim moving on without him, because again, it had nothing to do with him anymore. He was not _Commander Spock_ any longer, and the sooner he came to terms with it, the sooner he would become useful to everyone around him again.

"Okay, Spock? Do you understand?" Wesley reiterated at the Vulcan's continued silence.

Spock, who had somehow found himself staring at the floor again, looked up slowly, blinked, and said, "Yes. Thank you, Mr. Crawford. I bid you a good day." And with that, the Vulcan turned around, walked through the door, walked through the font of the store, ignored Harold's boisterous questioning, and exited into the street.

**A.N. So? I would really love to hear your thoughts about this chapter! We will be meeting Spock's new roommate in the next chapter, and this chapter was kind of a set up for that. **

**Now, I've finally been convinced to acquire a Tumblr which I started last week. (I'm still new with it, so don't expect anything stellar) and I would be thrilled if you followed me! I did post an excerpt from the first chapter of perdition part 2 on my tumblr for anyone who would like to read that. It's literally the beginning of chapter one for the second part, which has been titled: Stars Are Only Visible In Darkness from the song Battle Cry by Imagine Dragons. Here is the link to my tumblr: I hope you guys enjoy it for those that have read Closing Walls and Ticking Clocks. **

**Until next Sunday! **


	18. I Can't Drown My Demons

**AN. Oh my sweet baby Jesus this chapter turned into a damn monster. Like, seriously guys, I do apologize for the length of this, but I honestly couldn't find a good stopping place. This chapter dominated my week. I said 'fuck it' to so many things I needed to get done to write it. I said in the last chapter that we would see the roommate this chapter. But, that's not going to happen until the next chapter. It just wouldn't fit in with everything I ended up adding. And I added a lot. **

**I've gotten questions about when we are going to hear from Jim again? I was actually going to put a Jim POV in this one, but again, it wouldn't fit without making this chapter like 30k. HOWEVER, the next chapter will begin with Jim, so I hope that will pacify some of you **

**I want to thank the awesome reviews from the last chapter, and I'm still working on replying to them all. I hope to get that done today. (people on ffnet, I'm talking to you) I also want to thank the people who helped me in constructing this chapter, especially rubyhair and coccinelle. And the kudos on this has been awesome, so thanks for those too! **

**Warnings for this chapter do include a graphic scene, but it's been marked with the XXX's, and just a heads up, the angst in this chapter is even overwhelming to me, so, do with that what you will. I hope you all enjoy this loooong update, and again, no beta, all mistakes are my own! **

**Chapter Seventeen**

**I Can't Drown My Demons, They Know How to Swim**

It was raining outside when Spock left the store, and the chill that came with it was almost severe enough for him to give into temptation, and ride the subway back to the Bronx. However, the mere thought of all of those minds and their emotions around him at the moment made him feel sick. His own emotions were quite enough for him to deal with; especially where Wesley's last words were concerned.

_So, whatever it is about that ship that's still got you hooked, you've got to let it go. You've got to get over it. That's not your life anymore._

Wesley was right of course, but it didn't make it any easier to accept. How did you let go of the most important thing in your life? Or, the one place where you had made a difference?

_Yes, I have made plenty of __**differences**__, and one of them nearly cost Jim his captaincy because I could not be the diplomat my father raised me to be, _Spock thought disdainfully as he treaded the sidewalk, expertly weaving in and out of the traveling crowd despite not really looking at any of them. A month ago, the Vulcan had been running into almost everyone on the sidewalk. Especially when he hadn't paid careful attention to where he was walking. But now? Now he seemed to move with the other pedestrians as if he'd been doing it his entire life. Depressingly, he wondered if he could make the attempt blindfolded.

Well, at least he had adapted to one thing with little trouble.

A powerful gust of rainy wind blew into his face, which prompted the Vulcan to pull his coat collar up, shove his PADD deeper into the inside pocket, pull his hat down further on top of his skull, and walk as quickly as possible against the shrill, windy drizzle.

When he was within five minutes of his hotel, Spock considered journeying to the grocery store to acquire a scant few items. With the extra time he now had at his disposal given that he'd been sent home for his inability to perform adequately, it would have been the logical thing to do. He had eaten his last portion of spinach yesterday, and since he had to work tonight and tomorrow night at his other job, Spock knew he would not have very much time to do it later. Yes there were a couple of hours available to him in-between jobs, but if there was anything Spock had learned in the past month in New York City, it was to _never_ go to the grocery store between four and seven o'clock. It seemed that those hours were the busiest.

Spock _knew _those things. He _knew_ that the most logical thing was to go now, but it made no difference. He didn't want to go grocery shopping. What was logical just didn't matter, and, he wasn't hungry anyway. The confrontation with the angered customer, and the official reprimand had muted his appetite. He could wait till Friday. There was always the vending machine in case he should get hungry.

Those were the things Spock told himself as he came inside the hotel and brushed the water droplets off of his coat from the rain, which didn't really matter since his coat still remained as damp as ever. In the midst of shaking himself off, he didn't notice the man at the front desk waving over at him.

"Hey! You're room 14A, right?" the man shouted, making Spock snap his head over to regard him.

"Affirmative," he answered impassively while making his way toward the front desk. He knew by the man's tone that that was what was expected. Errantly he wondered where the usual receptionist was. He had never seen this human before. Perhaps they had just hired him, or, perhaps this was the receptionist that manned the front desk during the day—when Spock was usually gone at work.

On his approach, the receptionist leaned forward and squinted his eyes as if to inspect him. "Huh, Miller told me you were a Vulcan, but you don't look like one…" he commented curiously.

Spock resisted the urge to sigh and took off his wet hat. The fabric pulled at his hair just enough to show his ears and eyebrows.

The man took notice of them and nodded in understanding. "Ah, now I see. I've never seen a Vulcan with hair like yours. Why don't you wear it in that bowl cut you guys like so much? Aren't you breaking some cultural taboo?" he asked in amusement, though Spock was far from amused.

He glanced off down the hallway toward his room before giving the human his attention again. Sometimes, he really loathed human curiosity. "It is a personal preference. Was there another issue you wished to discuss?" Spock questioned curtly, and wanted nothing more than to get out of his wet coat and attempt to take a nap before his shift tonight.

The human leaned back and straightened up professionally. "Yeah. You're two days late on your payment for the room. Miller told me to catch you on your way in to remind you incase you'd forgotten, or else we'll have to check you out."

Spock blinked and stared. He'd completely forgotten about the hotel room fee that was due two days ago, and what was worse, he hadn't just forgotten about the payment, he had told himself that the fee was due next Monday, not two days ago. Where had he gotten that information? What had happened to his eidetic memory? Why was he all of the sudden forgetting important dates like that and replacing them with pseudo dates?

A surge of nervousness washed into him from the other man and pounded against his own. Though, where Spock's nervousness was from his current dilemma, the human had obviously mistaken Spock's silence for some form of oncoming hostility. Perhaps he thought Spock would start to yell at him like the customer had yelled at Spock back at work. He did feel like yelling, but it would be at himself, not the man seated behind the desk.

"Miller said you're always really good about paying it on time, which is why you haven't been checked out yet." the human went on to say.

It was true. Spock _had _always paid on time, and right now he was fighting hard not to start worrying about what he'd just been told. It had been startling enough to forget he told a customer to _hold on, _but at least in that case, he had been able to attribute his foolish emotional attachments as the reason.

What reason did he have for forgetting to pay for his room?

"Thank you for informing me of this. I confess that I had forgotten about the date. I do apologize," Spock answered quietly and reached around into his back pocket to bring out his credit chip. He was just bringing it forward when a thought struck him. "What are the penalty rates?"

A bout of relief came from the other man at the fact that Spock hadn't decided to argue with him before he shook his head in the negative. "Don't worry about the late penalties. Miller said it's fine," he answered lowly, Spock assumed so that other tenants, in case they should pass, wouldn't overhear.

Spock felt his own version of relief as he handed the credit chip over. He was suddenly glad he hadn't decided to go to the grocery store, and that he had gotten paid yesterday, because if he hadn't been then he wouldn't have been able to pay for the room for another week.

"May I inquire as to your name?" Spock asked as the human scanned his credit chip. He would like to thank the man personally for not giving him late penalties. If he had done this with his payment to Starfleet, there wouldn't have been any leniency.

"Garth Sanders. Would you like a receipt?" Garth asked him, and handed him back the chip.

"Yes please, Mr. Sanders." That was another thing Spock had just recently started doing; keeping his receipts. He kept them so that he could keep track of every single credit that left his account, and perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing to do considering that he couldn't seem to remember the dates his bills were due on.

"You want it printed out? Or on a device," Garth furthered.

"Device, please," Spock answered and brought out his PADD so that the information could be transferred.

"Okay, that should do it Mr…" Garth let his voice trail off. Apparently, Miller had not apprised the man of his name; he had merely informed him that he was a Vulcan. In fact, Spock could not remember giving Miller his name either.

For the first time ever, Spock decided not to give his real name. Perhaps it was because of the program he'd seen today; the one that had shown how pathetic he could become just by watching a holoshow. There was a possibility this human had seen that program, and if that were the case, then the name 'Spock' would only remind Garth of who he used to be—a Commander—which would then lead to more inquiries.

Which was something the Vulcan wanted to avoid.

"Soran," Spock lied easily, and was surprised at the small sense of contentment he obtained out of pretending to be someone else. It felt…_good_ not to be known as Spock, even if just for a few moments. It felt good to take the name of someone completely unrelated to him, and just fantasize for a second that he was this other person, and not Spock the half-Vulcan.

"Mr. Soran," Garth voiced and smiled.

**((oOo))**

Once Spock had arrived back to his room, he relished in the emptiness he felt in his head. The people upstairs were gone, and he couldn't pick up on any lingering emotions in the rooms on either side of him. Already his migraine was starting to dull down, and his forehead didn't feel as pressured as it chronically did. Wishing to bask in the moment, Spock leaned back up against the door, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. There was part of him that even wanted to moan in relief. He never got this kind of mental quietness at night, or on Sunday when _Barton and Co. Repairs_ was closed. Weekends were usually the busiest time for the hotel, which meant that Spock's day off was not really a day off, but a day to tolerate.

But today it was quiet, so at least he had that.

It was so quiet that instead of marking down the payment he'd just made to the hotel, and determining when the next one would be due, Spock shrugged out of his coat, left it to hang on the chair at his desk, put his PADD on that desk, and collapsed onto the bed. He was so tired, and with his migraine lessening into a minute throb, the fatigue and exhaustion that seemed to ever plague him became too irresistible to ignore.

When he closed his eyes, he did not open them again. He let sleep take him instead…

_Spock blinked as sunshine hit his face and bathed his cheeks in a warmth he had become unaccustomed to from living in New York City. He felt as if he'd just come out of a daze. He looked around himself in confusion before realizing where he was: outside Starfleet Headquarters' amphitheater in San Francisco. _

_Somehow, he knew he was at the homecoming ceremony for the Enterprise. The two-year mission had just completed, and everyone seemed to have turned out for the event to welcome the most famous crew—and captain in particular—in the Fleet back home. Through some reasoning that he did not know, and did not care about, Spock had managed to acquire time off to come and share in welcoming his first true home back to Earth. There was a feeling running throughout his body. He felt…elated? Was that the proper term? Spock was not sure because it had been so long since such a feeling had graced him with its' presence. _

_Yet, he felt it now, and that was all that mattered in this place. _

_He watched along with everyone else in the crowd as the Senior Officer's of the Enterprise gave their speeches at the podium one at a time. They were faces he had come to miss in his time on Earth (well, all except the new First Officer), and one face in particular had been the source of great longing. When the body that belonged to that face rose up to speak, Spock watched in awed admiration while the crowd clapped and cheered. It had only been a year, but Jim seemed to have grown. He appeared more…mature. He looked like a proper Starship Captain while Spock looked…_

_Well…_

_This was Jim's day, not Spock's, so the Vulcan decided it mattered not what he appeared like. _

_Spock's head throbbed painfully from the crowd's eager and excited emotional states, but he masked his agony. He would not fall pray to his weakness on this day of all days. His captain…Jim…deserved more than that. _

_When Jim started to speak, Spock felt his heart swell and the pain he was enduring suddenly seemed worth it. Hearing that voice there and in person was so much different than on any holoplayer, and Spock felt happy for having come. _

_Then everything shifted. The amphitheater was gone, and Spock found himself inside Headquarters in what some humans might call a ballroom. There was still a crowd, but it had considerably lessened. Instead of the citizens all showing their praise in the audience, it was mainly Starfleet officers and Admirals, and crewmembers that Spock could recognize as belonging to the Enterprise. Perhaps if he were thinking more clearly, he would question why he was there. He was not a part of this group anymore. His presence made no sense. _

'_I am here to find Jim,' Spock told himself as he weaved in and out of people with the ease of someone who had been doing such things on a routine basis. He passed by a few science officers he had supervised back on the Enterprise, but they did not recognize him. His hair was longer now, so of course they wouldn't. No mind, Jim would recognize him. That was who he was here for. _

"_So how are you going to spend your leave, Jim?" Spock heard someone ask from a few feet away. Instantly he headed toward the voice. They had said Jim's name, indicating that was who they were speaking to. _

"_Oh, I dunno, I thought about going back to Riverside for awhile. Get back in touch with my roots, but who knows," Jim answered, and Spock shivered as the sound of his voice waded through him. That voice that Spock sometimes fantasized about. _

"_I asked him to come to Georgia, but I guess that's too 'low key' for the almighty Jim Kirk," Dr. McCoy's voice joined in; and it was every bit as emotional as Spock remembered it to be. _

_He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the doctor's voice. _

_By this time, Spock had managed to complete the distance over to his former Captain, and for a moment he couldn't say anything. He could only stare at Jim and wonder if he was really there. He couldn't recall all that had happened over the past year on Earth, but Spock felt as if it had been the hardest year in his life. He had hated it, and still did. _

_But…seeing Jim's face again made him feel as if it had all been a bad dream. The past year hadn't happened. Things would get better now because he was with people who cared about him. He could solve any problem with James T. Kirk by his side. They were a team. _

_On that thought, Spock suddenly got the strangest feeling that there was a reason he and Jim had not spoken in so long. Hadn't Jim said something? Something that had put just what their relationship was into perspective? _

_However, as the Vulcan stood there, three feet in front of Jim, and the group of people around him that had now gone silent at his approach, he couldn't think what it was. He couldn't remember. All he saw or cared about was Jim. Jim promised security, confidence, diligence, love, passion, and happiness. All of the things Spock had started to assume just didn't exist for him. _

"_Uh, can we help you, sir?" It was the voice of Nyota, who was standing beside Dr. McCoy. Jim and the other's remained silent and watched him. _

_Spock looked at her strangely. Perhaps his new hairstyle had made him far harder to recognize than he'd thought._

"_Nyota, it is very agreeable to see you again," Spock answered, and hoped that his voice would give him away. He had missed Jim, yes. But he had missed Nyota too. She had been his cherished friend. _

_Everyone shared a glance, which spurred a sliver of nervousness to slide through him. Did they still not know who he was? Even after he had spoken? _

"_Ny! Come over here! I want you to meet someone!" a high-pitched, female voice sounded from afar, effectively grabbing Nyota's attention off of him. She turned abruptly and smiled largely at whoever had called out to her. _

"_Hey guys, I'll be back in a bit," she said and rushed off, completely ignoring Spock's statement to her. _

_Spock watched her run off, and told himself that it didn't matter that she hadn't recognized him. Obviously she was very excited about something, and he wouldn't hold that against her. Instead, he returned his focus to Jim, only…_

_Jim had gone back to conversing with the people in his group. "So anyway, I did get an invite from—," _

"_Pardon me, Captain. If I may, I would speak with you," Spock interrupted gently. He knew he was being rude, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted to talk to Jim. He wanted to ask him about his second year in space. What kind of adventures he found himself on, and if he'd thought about Spock as much as Spock had thought about him. _

_Jim sighed at the interruption and regarded him again. The people around him were shooting Spock annoyed glances. "I'm sorry, who are you again?" Jim asked him in barely restrained annoyance himself. _

_Spock tried not to let that deter him, but…it did hurt a little bit that he really was that unrecognizable. Spock knew that he would have recognized Jim in __**any**__ state his former captain chose to represent himself in. _

"_Jim, do you not recognize me?" Spock asked timidly, and it sounded so much like the voice he had been using the past year in almost every social interaction he had found himself in. It was the voice of a being that had run out of confidence. The elatedness from earlier was gone, and Spock wondered if it had even existed in the first place. _

_Jim shared a glance with Dr. McCoy before looking back at him. "Should I?" he deadpanned. _

_Spock winced, and in the back of his mind, memories of their last meeting were starting to filter back through, but not enough to make sense of. _

"_Jim, it is I…Spock," the Vulcan managed in a much quieter voice than he had intended._

_Obviously too quiet, because Jim leaned his head forward in barely restrained patience. Spock was not used to this kind of impatience from him. "You have to speak up, buddy. Can't hear ya'," he requested tiredly. The Vulcan knew enough about human body language to know that Jim was becoming annoyed. And now, he was starting to realize that he could feel it as well. _

"_Are you even Starfleet? You have to be Starfleet to be at this party, man…" someone else said; a man Spock didn't recognize. The Vulcan ignored him. He only cared about Jim right now. The Jim he remembered would not send him away because he wasn't Starfleet. _

"_I said that my name is 'Spock'," he spoke up in a much louder voice. Surely Jim had heard that clear enough. If he had to say it again, he wasn't sure if he would be able to. This was beginning to be quite humiliating. _

_Jim leaned back at that, and placed his fingers on his chin."Spock?" he started a few seconds later as if he wasn't sure he knew the name. He appeared puzzled by it, and Spock felt his genuine bemusement. _

_Spock paled. Surely Jim remembered him…_

"_I was at one time your First Officer," Spock decided to add, but already a coldness had descended in the air. A coldness that wasn't there before. He wished there weren't so many people standing around them. _

"_Oh yeah!" Jim exclaimed loudly, and appeared heavily pleased with himself for having remembered him. _

_Spock, oddly enough, did not feel pleased. In fact, he was the opposite of pleased. Suddenly the past year on Earth didn't seem like a bad dream at all. __**This**__ moment right now was quickly becoming the bad dream. _

"_Yeah, I do remember you. You left me high and dry on the ship," Jim said in slight accusation before looking the Vulcan up and down with what appeared to be distaste. Spock inwardly flinched and clasped his hands together in front of him. "Gotta say though, you look a lot different than when you walked out on me. You look older, actually. Thinner. And you even grew your hair out. Hmm, I liked it better before…" Jim went on in an observational tone. _

"_I see you never put that weight back on," Dr. McCoy cut in sarcastically. "You never were a good patient. Always fighting me every step of the way. When you left, I was kind of relieved because that was one less problem I had to worry about," the man continued before taking a very large swig of his drink and looking around himself as if he had become bored with the conversation._

"_Jim," Spock started in an attempt to gain a private audience with the man he had once held in such high esteem. The man he had given up everything for. Sold his soul for. But Jim cut him off._

"_How did you get in here, anyway? Hanes is right, you have to be Starfleet to get access to this party, and unless they took that dishonorable discharge off you record, you ain't Starfleet," the captain stated in slight suspicion. _

_Spock, whose mouth had been open, shut it. _

'_What?' he thought to himself in hurt confusion. Why was Jim worrying about that? What did it matter? Surely the Jim he remembered would not care if Spock were Starfleet or not to attend a party being thrown for him and his crew. The crew he had once helped lead. The crew he was here showing his admiration for. _

"_Jim." Spock made sure his voice was firm this time. "Could we perhaps converse in private?" 'So that I can tell you how much I have missed your presence. How much I have needed someone. How much pain I have been in and the loneliness I feel,' went unsaid. _

_Before Jim could answer his request, the man Spock recognized as Gary Mitchell came bounding up to them, a drink in his right hand and a very Kirkian smile on his face. He slapped Jim playfully on the shoulder, spared Spock an indifferent look, and then turned back to face Jim as if the Vulcan did not exist. _

"_Jim come on, let's blow this place. That bar I was telling you about has our names written all over it, and I know we'll all get free drinks given what ship we just came back on," Gary announced in an exuberant voice and attempted to lead Jim away. _

_Spock stared at them as the cold feeling enveloped his entire body. He felt small and insignificant. He felt… _

"_Oh yeah, I remember you telling me about that place!" Jim began eagerly and turned to the doctor. "Bones, this place sounds awesome even by your standards. You've gotta come with us," Jim paused in his excited banter and looked at Spock as if he'd just remembered he was standing there._

_By now, Spock had taken a step backward. The Vulcan wanted to run, to get away from what couldn't possibly be happening. _

"_Uh, rain check, Spock?" he finished nonchalantly._

_Spock opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a single word, Jim had already turned and walked off with Gary. Dr. McCoy grumbled to himself but followed after them regardless while the rest of the group dispersed. _

_Suddenly Spock found himself alone again. Like he had been for the past year. Suddenly, the words that had remained elusive to Spock this entire time came to the forefront of his newly aching mind. _

'_I don't __**care**__ enough about you anymore to stop you,'_

_Spock was backing even further away from the place Jim had just been standing moments ago like it had been lit on fire. He felt like he couldn't breathe. How? How had Jim forgotten him? Why had it been that easy to cast him aside? _

_Spock put a hand to his temple to quell his growing agony. He wondered why he was here. Why had he come here? Jim had told him…had __**told**__ him he didn't care about him, so why had the Vulcan taken it upon himself to come see him? To try and talk to him? To share with him? _

'_Perhaps because there had been a small part of me that hoped he had been lying. That despite what he said, he still cared, even if it was just a small fraction. I would take a small fraction of Jim's friendship over nothing at all,' Spock told himself morosely, because he knew now how much of an error he'd made in assuming such a thing. If he had been smarter, he would have known that to Jim, he was merely someone that the captain used to know._

_The significance ended there. _

_Spock was still backing away, and feeling like his organs had been ripped out of his body when his back hit what felt like a large, fleshy wall. There was a familiar scent in the air; one that spurred great discomfort within him. _

"_Do not cry, my Vulcan. You might not be worth your captain's affections, but you are worth mine," S'teth's voice sounded lecherously, his large jaw brushing up against Spock's right ear. Suddenly large hands enveloped his shoulders and pulled him closer into an embrace. Spock whimpered as the High Priest leaned his head down into the crook of his neck, and inhaled deeply. He could feel the familiar tug on his mind as the priest attempted to push into it. _

"_Ah, yes," the priest moaned primitively. "I had forgotten what your emotions taste like, Spock. What they 'smell' like. And they were so very worth the wait. I have traveled across galaxies for you, and while I regret the time it took me, it seems to have been only a benefit. Your emotions have gotten much more delicious with age. Just like fine wine," S'teth went on and threaded his large fingers through Spock's longer hair. "There is so much fear in you now that was not there before. All of that fear just for me. You can hide nothing. It does not matter how much you change your appearance, or your occupation, you will always be my Vulcan. I can find you anywhere," S'teth commented and ran his tongue up the Vulcan's neck. _

_Spock shivered, and wondered why the other people in the room continued walking around and chatting amongst one another as if nothing was happening. Did they not see the Altririan? Did they not see what he was doing? Did no one care about what was going on? _

'_And what is he doing, Spock? Nothing wrong. You consented, after all…' a part of Spock sought to remind him._

"_And sadness. I sense an overwhelming sadness in you, prized Vulcan. Is it for your captain? I warned you of this. I told you that you were no use to him or your ship, and from what your Admiral has told me, you are not useful as a citizen either. You should have heeded my warning. You should have stayed with me where you still served a purpose. Where I could have shown you your purpose every single night. There is one difference you can still make…" S'teth went on, and suddenly the environment shifted again, and Spock found himself lying on the grass outside of Starfleet Headquarters; a cluster of tall bushes hiding them from view. The sunshine was gone, and all that remained was a starless, dark sky. He could hear the party still going on, and if he strained his ears hard enough, he could make out Jim's voice some twenty feet away discussing the plans to travel to the bar that Mitchell had mentioned to him. _

"_Ji…" Spock started to cry out, but S'teth placed a large hand on his mouth as he worked Spock's clothes off with the other one. The Vulcan was frozen in fear, and unable to resist. All the work he had spent trying to handle and process his fear, and barely a minute with the High Priest caused all of that work to come crashing down. _

"_Do not call out to him, Spock. You belong to me, not to him. I came all of the way here for you. He did not. He does not want you. Can you not understand that?" S'teth growled into his ear while using his oversized knees to spread Spock's legs apart. The lust the alien was feeling had quickly become overwhelming. Spock felt like vomiting as a result. _

_**XXXXXXX**_

_He tried to struggle in the alien's massive grip, and as a result, S'teth let out a breath of frustration, and, oddly enough, retracted his hand from Spock's face. "Go on then, Spock. Call out to him. I still hear him speaking. He is not far. He will be able to hear you. If he cares about you, then he will come, will he not? So, go on…call out to your captain. If he answers your call, then I stand corrected. I will let you up." _

_Spock wasted no time. He called out to his captain. "Jim!" he shouted; his naked body becoming colder as the Priest continued touching him in every place he did not want to be touched. "Jim, please!" Spock yelled again. He hated the fear in his voice. His father would hate it, and he was glad his mother was not here to witness it. He hated that Jim would have to hear it, but he wanted so desperately to be removed from this current situation. _

_Suddenly S'teth paused. "Wait?" he announced as his giant body lifted and stilled. He brought his hand up to cup his ear as if to better hear. "I think I hear him coming," he went on in an excited voice, and Spock dared to hope. _

_A violent chuckle came from the Priest a moment later, and he lowered his body back down on top of Spock; his new hardness pressing up against him. Spock was morbidly aware that somehow, the alien had become quite naked. _

_ "Nevermind. I thought I might have heard him say something, but alas, he has left. He heard your cries, Vulcan, and he did not care. He does not care about you…not like I do. Let me hold you, Spock. Let me take this body. Let me use its' splendor…" S'teth whispered breathlessly into his ear as he pushed himself inside the Vulcan with hasty force. _

_ Spock screamed from the entry as it ripped through him like a knife, but also, because of what S'teth had just said. Jim had to have heard his cries, and yet, he did not come. No one had come. They had forgotten him. S'teth had been right; Jim did not care for him._

_ On that realization, Spock felt something extinguish inside of him, and the Vulcan stilled and let his body go pliant. S'teth moaned in satisfaction at Spock's newfound submissiveness, and thrust harder against him; his large fingers knotting themselves in Spock's hair. If no one was coming for him; if no one would help him, then there was little point in struggling. The Priest would have his way one way or the other. If no one cared about him, then what was the point in caring about what happened? _

In one swift movement, Spock sprang up from his bed with a gasp. His body was drenched in sweat, and his head pounded in his skull. Erratically the Vulcan looked around himself for the High Priest, his body ready to make a hasty exit if need be. His skin still tingled from where he had been touched in the dream, and the mere sensation made him want to scratch at his skin.

But…S'teth was nowhere to be found, and he felt illogical and stupid for fearing such a thing. He cursed his body for attempting to provide a physical reminder, and hated the fact that despite knowing it had just been a dream, the urge to scratch at his skin was still ever-present. Yet, he could not give in. He was not outside Headquarters' as he had been moments ago. He was in his room. In fact, he had never left this room. Therefore, his nightmare should not be affecting him like this.

_It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare…_Spock told himself while he took shuddering breaths in an attempt to calm back down. His adrenaline had spiked, and his heart was beating far too quickly. He felt like a child.

Except that as a child, he would have had his mother's comforting presence in this moment. As an adult, he had no one.

After a minute of trying to regain his composure, Spock found he couldn't. The itching sensation was gone, but he still felt the erratic emotions. The dream had been too overwhelming despite whatever Vulcan he had left in him making assurances that it had not been real. That it had all been just a nightmare spurred by emotional attachments, fears, and impulses. A simple biological reaction.

But, it wasn't that simple.

This nightmare had been so different from all the ones before it. It had been worse. So much worse. Yes, Spock hated his constant dreams about the Altririan, but this time, Spock attributed his current feelings to what had taken place _before_ S'teth had arrived.

Everyone had forgotten him. _Jim_ had forgotten him. The man he would have sacrificed his life for had moved on, and Spock had become nothing more than an old acquaintance. Jim hadn't even _recognized _him…

"Cease this!" Spock grit out harshly to no one in particular as his thoughts and emotions continued spiraling downward, quickly becoming out of his control. His behavior was appalling to him. A nightmare was not real. It was a completely fictional creation of the mind, and therefore, what Jim had done in the dream should not be upsetting him so much because Jim had not actually _done_ it. He was expending emotion over something that had never even happened, and becoming a miserable excuse for a Vulcan over a series of events that no one would ever know about besides himself. _Everything_ he had felt and experienced just moments ago was an artifice.

For one thing, now that he was awake, Spock knew he would have _never_ gone to any homecoming ceremony, and especially one for the Enterprise. Not only was it laughable to think he could afford to take off from work and travel to San Francisco given his current financial situation, but he would never have shown his face to the people who had once held the utmost respect for him. The mere thought of them seeing him now terrified him.

Another factor was the time set in the dream. He had not been on Earth for a year. He had been here two months, and S'teth would never travel…

Spock stilled on that thought. Honestly, he had no idea what the Altririan would do when it came to him. Altriri IV was a Federation planet now. If the High Priest wanted to come to Earth, then what was there to stop him? And who would stop him from seeking out Spock? If that were to happen, what would Spock be prepared to do that did not involve the truth coming out?

Spock shook his head on that thought and hoisted himself up off the bed. The minds he had grown so used to seemed to be present again in the hotel. The discomfort they caused him, coming back full force. His current turmoil only added to that sensation, which did nothing but anger him. He did not want to think of these things. These things he could not change. He had had that nightmare for one reason; his emotional attachment to a life he did not have anymore.

Spock remembered the way he had felt in the dream. How devastated he was when Jim did not recognize him. And he felt shame. He felt exactly as he had back at work when he'd seen the holoshow depicting Jim's new First Officer.

_'You've got to get over it. That's not your life anymore'_ Wesley had said, and they were the most logical words he'd heard in a long time. It wasn't his life anymore.

And yet that was all Spock could think about at the moment. He could not escape it, and now that pathetic longing for something he had no right to anymore had taken to haunting his dreams, just as S'teth had done on a routine basis.

And it was unacceptable.

He might not be able to escape S'teth when the night claimed him—or in this case, the day—and, he might not be able to keep the High Priest from coming to Earth and seeking him out should such a thing unfortunately come to pass. But he _had_ to stop his emotional attachment to Jim and the Enterprise from affecting him like this. He had to do as Wesley suggested. He had to _get over_ them both.

_But how? How do I attempt such a thing? How do I purge myself of these feelings? I cannot go to New Gol, for they will see my weakness. They will see my shortcomings. How do I deal with this? _Spock asked himself desperately with the illogical wish that doing such a thing just might provide the answer he was looking for.

A sharp protest from his head ended his musings, and his migraine began building once again from an outside source. There was overwhelming sadness coming from one of the rooms around him, and with it, a sense of loss. Spock knew it had nothing to do with him. There was no way another person in another room could know about the pain and suffering he was enduring at the moment, but it still hit him like a sack of bricks and added to his own despair. The other's suffering made his feel all the worse.

Instantly Spock let out a growl of frustration, for if he wasn't feeling these feelings, then it would be just the other's he was experiencing. He wouldn't feel so overwhelmed if the only emotions he had to deal with were another's. He couldn't help feeling the people around him, but it infuriated him that he could not stop his own emotions from running rampant and causing him this pain. He was working against himself, was he not? And all because of his inability to _let go_ and adapt.

Adapt. Adapt. Adapt.

Determined and feeling like he should _do_ something to put him on the path to emotional cleansing, Spock marched over to the closet, darted inside, used unnecessary force in sweeping aside the few clothing items he owned that were hanging up, and grabbed the chessboard in a crushing grip. Wesley had told him that he needed to let go, and by keeping this board, he was failing at that. The chessboard was the only thing left that connected him to Jim. Just holding it sent waves of longing through Spock's side, and reminded him of what had been. So, logically, would not destroying it be taking the first step in adapting? In letting go? In _getting _over it?

_And then, once that step has been taken, you can move on,_ Spock encouraged himself as he marched out of the closet back into the bedroom, and brought the board high above his head with the intention of bringing it down over his knee to snap it in half.

A rush of air passed by his face as his arms descended with the board and moved toward his knee at an alarming pace. Once it was broken, he could move on. That's all he had to do to rid himself of these feelings. Break the board. It was so simple. It should be so simple, shouldn't it?

And yet, when the actual image of the board separating into lesser pieces of the treasure it had once been paraded through his mind, Spock's arms faltered. They faltered and slowed to a useless stop, and the Vulcan let the board slip out of his fingers and hit the floor with an audible thud.

Overcome with emotional exhaustion, Spock let his own body fall to the floor as well. He scooted his back up until he was against the foot of his bed, and gathered his knees close to him. The board lay a foot away; completely unharmed. There was a part of him that hated that.

"I am sorry," he said out loud to himself, his voice hoarse and quiet. For he could not break the board despite how much sense it made to do so. So instead, he apologized.

He was apologizing to himself for being so weak that he could not even rid himself of the object that caused him such pain and made it so hard to move forward. His attachment to Jim was too strong, and despite the fact that he was basically paving the way for his migraine to gather more momentum, for his position at work to suffer more because of his inadequacies, and for his chilling nightmares to likely continue and probably in the form that he had just experienced; the mere image of the chessboard lying there in ruins made his heart hurt. It seemed that whatever choice he made, something was going to hurt. The only thing Spock had the power to do was choose which of the two it was going to be.

In this case, the Vulcan spared his heart—or what was left of it.

Perhaps one day he would grow strong enough to dispose of the board, but for now…he would keep it. He would keep it for reasons he wouldn't dare admit to right now.

**((oOo))**

An hour before his shift was to start for _Global X Solutions_, Spock dragged himself up from the floor where he'd been sitting for the past three hours staring at the board, and sat down at his desk. The overwhelming sadness he had felt from earlier was gone, and fortunately his migraine had reduced to that of the chronic dull throb. He felt slightly better rested, given the nap that had actually been quite lengthy despite the nightmare, and he knew that he would appreciate that once his shift delved into the later hours.

Taking the PADD on the table, Spock turned it on, and glanced at the schedule that Morton—the man Spock answered to at Global—had sent to him Monday morning. He hadn't looked at Wednesday's destination yet, which was irresponsible given how soon said shift was due to arrive. He could only hope it wouldn't be too far away. Last week he had actually had to travel outside of the city back to Jersey City, and by the time he'd gotten back to the hotel, it had nearly been two in the morning.

He hoped he wouldn't have a repeat of that today. Especially since judging by the thunder outside, it was still very much raining.

Spock breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw _Bellevue Hospital_ as the destination, which was conveniently located in Manhattan. He really couldn't hope for anything closer than that as there were rarely any companies in the Bronx that used equipment or software from _Global X Solutions._

There was something else about the hospital that stood out to Spock, and it wasn't until he was in the bathroom and about to comb his hair back into some form of submission given its new length, that it dawned on him. Bellevue Hospital was the same hospital that Amber Beckinsale, the woman he'd met almost a month ago on a bench in Jersey City, said she was employed at. His heart gave a slight start at the realization, but it was short-lived. Just because she worked at the hospital, did not mean she would be there now, and even if she somehow was, he would likely not see her.

_She would likely not recognize me if she were to see me anyway,_ Spock thought bitterly as he brought the comb up and ran it through his hair. While his new hair style hid his Vulcan features quite effectively, Spock had to admit that he did not prefer it to what he had before. The length annoyed him, and he constantly had to push his bangs out of his eyes so that he could see adequately while at the same time, making sure not to brush them over too much lest he reveal the upswept eyebrow. The hair that went over his pointed ears scratched and made them itch, and it was an ongoing battle to keep from using his fingers to tuck the strands behind them. Vulcan ears were sensitive, and after an entire life of nothing between them and the air, they were doing a fine job of protesting the added length.

However, it did not matter. Spock had endured far worse than impaired vision and itchy ears.

As he continued moving the comb through his hair, it struck him odd that with each brush stroke, his comb came back with more and more of the black strands that belonged on his head. Curious now, Spock put the comb down and ran his fingers through it gently. When he pulled the hand back, his eyebrow rose when he realized just how much hair had come with it. Was he losing hair?

Quickly, Spock glanced in the mirror and studied himself. His hair did not appear to be any thinner, and yet, the evidence on his hand as well as his comb proved otherwise. Feeling the need to double check, Spock ran his hand through his hair again, and absolutely _did not_ feel a sliver of anxiety when he brought his hand back around to his face, and saw more hair there.

One thing was undeniably clear. He was in fact, losing hair, and he had a strong suspicion why.

'_If your body stays at that mass too long—or God forbid if you should lose even __more__ body mass—eventually the rest of your biological systems are going to be forced to compensate. Your body __will__ attack itself to get the nutrients and energy it needs from being in such a large calorie deficit.'_

Dr. McCoy's voice was strangely strong as his mind recalled the man's past words to him; his past warning, which seemed to be coming to fruition. Perhaps that was just because of the nightmare though.

Usually, Spock dressed and undressed in his closet because he felt safer in the closed, private place as opposed to the open bedroom. He did not like the bathroom either because honestly, he hated looking at his body in the mirror. But today, Spock would have to make an exception. He needed to look at his body to determine how much weight he had lost. The last time he had stepped on a scale had been in Dr. McCoy's sickbay, and as he did not have one available to him now, visual inspection would have to be the alternative.

After going to his closet to retrieve the casual clothes he would change into for his night position, Spock returned to the bathroom and closed the door. Why he closed the door was not something the Vulcan wished to mentally voice. He just wanted it closed. Gently, Spock took off his shirt and pants, folded them neatly, and placed them on the toilet seat. He hugged his wrist with his other hand for no logical reason at all, and took a deep breath before turning back around to face the mirror. It was—as Jim would have said—the moment of truth.

For that moment though, it was hard to believe that the creature staring back at Spock was actually him. The Vulcan blinked, and hoped that when he opened his eyes he would see a fatter version of himself standing there, but it was to no avail. When his eyes opened again, the withered body was still there.

His suspicion had proved correct. He had lost too much weight, and to the point where every rib bone could be made out in fine detail. His veins were more pronounced than they had ever been, and his skin tone had an unhealthy pallor to it. Really, the only good thing about the entire ordeal was that at least this time, no bruises could be found.

Spock frowned and hugged his arms around his torso as if to shield himself from the horrifying revelation that was his body. He was absolutely ashamed that he had permitted his body get to this point. How was this adapting? How was this moving on? Starving one's body was not logical, and while he had not intended to do it, he had quite obviously _done _it. The evidence was staring at him in the mirror.

But…he was also confused.

True, he had not been eating as much as he should have been, but Spock also didn't think he was eating so little as to bring himself to this point. To a human, it looked like Spock didn't eat much at all, but Vulcans did not require as much food as a human being. A Vulcan's metabolism worked differently. It expended energy differently than his human counterparts. Yes he knew he had not been eating sufficiently, but he also had not thought once that he was starving himself this severely. In fact, now that he saw just how horrible his body composition was, the fatigue? The memory loss? And now the hair loss? It all made perfect, logical sense.

'_Your body __**will**__ attack itself to get the nutrients and energy it needs from being in such a large calorie deficit.__'_

Perhaps his metabolism was not as good as a full Vulcan. Perhaps he _did_ require more calories than what his father's people required. It really would not be that surprising to Spock. He had failed in so many Vulcan capacities thus far, why not another? He had already proven countless inadequacies about himself where his mentality and biology were concerned. What was one more thing to add to that list?

Not wishing to look upon his failures any longer, Spock donned his new clothes as quickly as possible, combed through his hair again—and promptly ignored the strands that fell out—brushed his teeth, and set off toward the subway station with the resolve that when he came back, he would purchase something out of the vending machine and eat it even if he wasn't hungry. He then decided he would go to the store tomorrow after he left _Barton and Co. Repairs_. He would not be waiting until Friday after all. He might have failed himself in every aspect he could think of, but he would not allow himself to emaciate any further.

**((oOo))**

"What can I do for you, sir? Visiting hours ended an hour ago, I'm afraid, unless you've been cleared to stay overnight," a young female clad in medical scrubs said to him from behind the font desk at Bellevue Hospital.

Spock, who was now wet again from the outpouring outside that hadn't seemed to let up during his time in the hotel, took out his PADD and handed it to her. She accepted it from him, looked it over, nodded, and then handed it back with a smile. "They said you guys were coming today. You're here to update our _SLkeyC_ systems, right?"

"Affirmative," Spock answered stoically and brought the PADD back to his side.

She raised an eyebrow at his choice of words, and Spock inwardly berated himself for not choosing a simpler term such as, _'yes, ma'am'_. If he were going to appear like a human in public, then he would have to learn to adjust his patterns of speech to suit one. In his experience, the majority of humans did not utilize such words in casual conversation.

"One second, please," she started, turned to her computer terminal, and printed off a transparent digital flashing nametag that read: _Global X Solutions_. "Just keep this on in the hospital or they'll throw you out," she finished humorously and handed him the nametag. Spock raised and eyebrow that she couldn't see, took the tag, and clipped it to his shirt. At least it didn't have his name on it.

"Thank you," he answered.

"I'd start in the maternity ward. It's not as busy up there at the moment," the woman offered just as he turned to retreat to the turbo lift.

"Thank you for your advice. I shall heed it."

The woman chuckled at him, but Spock felt no indifference from her. Her laughter was more like the laughter that Jim had often exhibited in his presence. Lighthearted and mirthful.

Spock took the turbo-lift to the maternity ward first, as the nurse had advised him. Once there, another individual showed him the varying computers that contained the _SLkeyC_ software he was to update. After that had been completed, the Vulcan moved on to the _diagnostic imaging department_ where he underwent the same process. After that, the _gastroenterology department_ came next, and then the _pediatric ward_.

All in all, since visiting hours were over, the hallways were largely devoid of everyone except patients, medical doctors, and nurses. As a result, Spock found his duties quite simple to perform. Given his experience in computer systems, the Vulcan would not be surprised if he could update software in his sleep.

It was not until he walked onto the fourth floor, the_ critical care ward_, that things became difficult.

_Very_ difficult.

He had felt strange coming up the turbolift, and that feeling only increased as the lift ascended, but it was when he stepped off the turbo-lift that a wave of heaviness overwhelmed his head and strangely enough, the side where his heart was, and forced him to stagger sideways toward the wall. It was so sudden that Spock was forced to place his hand on said wall to steady himself, and it was a full thirty seconds before he could stand back up without the assistance of the wall to discern just what had happened, and why. The heaviness was still there, and so was a brand new migraine, but at least the element of surprise was gone.

And that's when he realized it. That's when he realized why he had nearly been brought down to his knees.

Emotion.

There was so much emotional pain on this floor that Spock felt he was suffocating in it. All around him, the Vulcan could feel wave after wave of emotions such as despair, hate, anger, and vast amounts of fear. Some of the individuals Spock could feel were expressing the emotions simultaneously, and Spock felt as if his head was going to explode from it all.

While it was true that he could likely walk through the city and feel these same emotions a thousand times over, he had never felt them to this high of a degree from another mind that was not his own, or from so many at the same time. Why? Why was there so much pain here? Why did he feel like he had walked into a war zone?

"No, Please! Please bring her back! Please!" Someone yelled from down the hall, prompting Spock to immediately look toward the source. He saw an older man leading a woman out of one of the hospital rooms; both of them had tears streaming down their faces. Beside them, a doctor stood with a stoic, detached expression. Yet, Spock could just pick up on the sympathy he was hiding.

"My baby! God—my baby!" the woman cried into the man's shoulder and hugged and clutched at him desperately.

The man stroked her hair and leaned his cheek down into it. He pulled her closer. "I'm sorry Lana. She's gone. Our baby is gone…" he told her as if he really didn't believe it, shuddered, and then began to cry with her.

The surges of desolation and anguish coming from the couple became stronger as the Vulcan focused all of his attention on them. He couldn't help but whimper and grab his temple; the sharp pain momentarily blanking out his vision. Spock knew the feelings they were exhibiting. He had felt it once when he had lost his mother; and his planet. Those people down the hall had lost someone, and he was feeling that loss as if it were his own. He was losing his mother all over again.

Spock realized in that moment of agony that the people feeling these emotions in the critical care ward were people that were likely either watching someone die, wondering if they were going to die, or dying themselves. These were the emotions people felt when they knew the end was near, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. The couple standing down the hallway fifteen feet from him, and holding each other as if the universe had only minutes left before its destruction, had just lost someone; a daughter more than likely, and Spock was feeling _everything_.

"Excuse me, are you the tech here to update our _SLkeyC_ system?" a male orderly asked him from a few feet away, but to Spock, he sounded as if he were standing on the other side of the ward. The Vulcan couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. The pain was too much. Too overwhelming. He needed to leave and get away from all of this devastation before it caused his skull to implode and his heart to explode in his side.

"Uh, sir?" the man prompted again.

Spock, who was leaning over as if he was about to vomit, threw his hand up to signal he just needed a moment. Could someone just give him a moment? Was that such an inconvenient request?

Seeing his gesture, the orderly went blessedly silent while Spock continued to take deep breaths in an attempt to regain his control. To manage the pain.

"Sir, are you okay?"

Spock inhaled sharply and peered up from his knelt over position. "_Please_—a moment," he managed through gritted teeth, and wanted nothing more than for the orderly to just leave him.

The orderly gave him an odd look before turning to walk back over to the main desk where the nurses seated there were eyeing the Vulcan warily. Spock hated appearing so weak in front of them, but there was nothing for it. He had to wait it out. He had to be patient while his mind adjusted to the new and powerful influx of emotion on this floor. His mind _had _to adjust, or he could not do his job, and if he could not do his job, then he could not adapt. Spock had just told himself back in the hotel that he would adapt. That he must adapt. He must.

Three minutes went by before Spock finally felt he could breathe again. He shuddered, inhaled and exhaled, shuddered again, and then righted himself as pristinely as he could manage it. The couple from moments ago had disappeared as well as the doctor who had been standing next to them. Where? Spock did not know, but at least their emotions were not at the forefront of his mind any longer. There was still an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness lingering about the ward, but the bemusement coming from the nurses and the orderly was outshining all of that for the moment. Spock paled thinking about what they'd probably witnessed him doing, leaning over like he was about to pass out. It made him feel pathetic.

The Vulcan took another deep breath before he approached the desk. Feeling nervous about the display he'd just exhibited, Spock brushed his bangs over just a bit (but not enough to show his eyebrows) before he looked at the orderly who was standing just behind a nurse, his expression guarded and wary. "I apologize for not answering your initial query, sir. I am here to update your _SLkeyC_ system," he announced, his head throbbing on every word. He might have regained his composure somewhat, but it was still difficult to speak. His head still protested his very existence at the moment.

The orderly shared a glance with one of the nurses before looking back at him. "That's okay, uh…?"

Spock knew now when he was being probed for a name. Though, unlike with the receptionist back at the hotel, he knew he would have to be truthful. It was one thing to lie to someone on his own personal time, but quite another to do it when he was representing a company.

"You may refer to me as 'Spock'." Spock answered quietly, and readied himself for the onslaught of confusion and bewilderment that usually came along with his giving people his name. There was nothing for it though. He could not lie about his identity at work.

"Mr. Spock. Hmm, that's a popular name today," the orderly noted, and his expression became thoughtful. If Spock had to make an educated guess, he would say that he was not the only one that had seen the holoshow from earlier today. "You know, you actually kind of look like the other Spock I'm thinking about…" the orderly added with narrowed eyes.

The Vulcan stiffened, but decided not to confirm that he was in fact that very same Spock. It would be better to let them go on thinking that the only similarity between him and the _Spock_ the orderly had just referred to, was their namesake.

_However, that would not be a lie either. That __**is**__the only similarity between who I am now, and the Spock they knew from Starfleet, _Spock thought bitterly to himself before he opened his mouth. "I admit, the name is not common, but I am not the _'Spock'_ you are referring to," he corrected, and before the human could form a response, quickly added in a brusque tone, "if you would please show me to the terminals in need of updating, I can begin my work."

The orderly, along with the two nurses flinched at his abrupt tone, but nevertheless showed him over to the first terminal he was to work on. Fortunately, most of terminals carrying the _SLkeyC_ system were off and away from the main desk in the critical care ward, which meant that Spock did not have to endure the staff's constant staring while he worked. It was hard enough forcing himself to work with an ear-splitting migraine, let alone being constantly observed.

Spock should have been able to update all of the systems in less than twenty minutes. This should have been a simple feat to accomplish, and yet, forty minutes later found the Vulcan still in the critical care ward. He was only on his fifth computer terminal, and there were eight more to go. It was not that the terminals were more difficult than the others he had worked on earlier that night, but more so that his migraine was keeping from being as efficient as possible.

It seemed that with every physical gesture he expressed, every incoming sound, or every time he dared to blink, Spock felt pain. It didn't matter how long he stayed in the critical care ward, he just couldn't become accustomed to the overwhelming emotions scattered across it. They pushed and prodded at him constantly, and sometimes the Vulcan was so lost in the storm of them that he was unsure where the foreign emotions began, and his ended. Was it _his _loss he was feeling? Or another's? Sometimes, the distinction was impossible to discern; hence the reason _why_ he had been in the ward now for twice as long as he should have been. When one had to take frequent breaks in order to stay rooted into reality, time wasted away.

It was after one of these _'breaks'_ when the computer in front of him gave a ping, indicating the system had been successfully updated, and Spock winced as the sound tore through him. Errantly, he regretted his earlier relief at discovering that Bellevue Hospital would be his destination. Given his current predicament, he would have gladly traveled to Jersey City. He should have better prepared himself upon learning he was coming to a hospital. He should have known that the emotions in such a place would be unpredictable. Once again, his failure to utilize common sense had cost him dearly.

Spock had just gotten up and slowly moved to the sixth terminal in his queue when a sharp feeling of shocked fear ran through him and forced him to grab onto the desk. _Not this again,_ he thought in dismay as the hallway erupted to life with nurses and techs. They were all running into a single room about fifteen feet away from Spock. Inside he could hear voices talking loudly with one another; their tones hastened and determined. There was a red flashing light above the door to the room, but no klaxon was sounding. However, Spock could tell by the pure emotion radiating out of the room that something dire was happening inside it.

"He's not breathing! Call the damn code!" a woman out of Spock's line of vision shouted loudly. There was something familiar about the voice, but Spock could not even begin to place it amongst the chaos that had just erupted.

A second after the woman's order, a male tech emerged hastily from the room, his face flushed red, and slammed his hand on a panel just on the left side of the door. "Code Blue, room 518! Code Blue!" he shouted and then disappeared into the room again.

"Shit, get me .8 cc's of Epi! Now! We can't wait on the doctor!" the same woman shouted, her voice booming with authority. Spock could feel a jumble of feelings ranging from shock all the way to determination. The fear that had initially grabbed at him was still the strongest however, and the Vulcan had a suspicion that it belonged to whoever the code had been called on. Because there was no doubt about it, the strength of such fear would certainly belong to someone who feared that the end had come.

Spock shivered when he felt that same horrible fear start to press harder against him the longer he thought about it; much like what had happened with the couple from forty minutes ago. He soon felt overwhelmed by it, and seconds later found the Vulcan on his knees behind the computer terminal while medically scrubbed bodies rushed past him, completely oblivious to his plight. He thought he saw a doctor or two come onto the scene, and despite his vision spotting from the migraine, there was still a part of him that struggled to move back into an upright position, lest he draw their attention. He could not permit himself to become hospitalized. He _could not. _

"Nurse! Hand me that hypo…" someone, a male this time, shouted from somewhere, but Spock couldn't make sense of it anymore. His head hurt so much, and his side felt like it was about to burst. How rapid could his heart rate become before he went into cardiac arrest? What if this was the end? What if he was dying? He _felt_ like he was dying!

_Stop it, Spock! You are not dying. You are mistaking their emotions for yours. You are mistaking __**his**__ emotions for yours. You are __**not **__the one dying; _the Vulcan struggled to tell himself as he gripped his head tightly with his fingers. He heard the sounds of someone softly whimpering, and thought that it might very well be him. No one else could whimper quite like that. It was as if he had no conscious control over anything anymore.

Another moment passed and suddenly, Spock felt like was going to be sick. He immediately thought about how the staff would likely become irritated with him for getting that sickness all over their floor, should it come to pass. He was not a patient of theirs. They were not obligated to help him, and he did not wish to make more work for them.

And yet, as the fear pressed into him with an almost desperate strength, Spock found himself forgetting about the nurses, the doctors, the possibility of being seen in such a vulnerable state, and only focused on his own doomed fate. For there was no doubt in his mind, he was dying. They could not save him. He held the fate of someone seconds from death. He did not want it to end like this. There was so much regret. So much he had not said that would remain unsaid. He needed Jim to know…

But then it was over.

Instantly the fear disappeared as quickly as if it were a flame that someone had just thrown water over. It left his mind so suddenly that Spock wasn't even sure he felt it retreat in the first place. All he did know was that he no longer felt like he was dying. All of the thoughts he had just been thinking made no sense to him any longer, and why? Because the person who had been expressing such emotion was no longer expressing anything at all. The fear was gone because the person was gone. Dead. Passed from this life and into the next one.

For such a small moment, Spock was envious that where someone else's fears were over, his remained.

"Call it," a man tiredly voiced before adding, "time of death, 2223 hours. Someone comm the family—actually, Enders? You do it. His wife always liked you. This is gonna be hard for them."

Spock felt regret and sadness flit into him, and he attributed it to the staff. Of course they would feel such things after losing a patient. However, their feelings paled in comparison to what their patient had just gone through. Spock should know, he had gone through it with him.

Spock shuddered at that, and just like before, forced himself to take deep breaths in an effort to slow his rapidly beating heart. His migraine still screamed at him, but that wasn't something he could fix. The heart beat hopefully, was.

Finally he was able to open his eyes, which at some point had closed on their own accord, and grimaced when he saw green droplets of blood on the white tile floor. Of course his nose had started bleeding. Honestly, Spock would have been surprised if it hadn't. However, he would see to that issue once he righted himself. He needed to gather his composure and quit kneeling on the floor like someone who was not self sufficient. Like someone who might require medical assistance, which was all the more a possibility given the medical staff walking out of the room now.

One of them, a female judging by the long style of auburn hair she sported, had almost just met eyes with him when Spock forced his head the other way—effectively blocking the nosebleed from sight—and pretended to be working on the bottom portion of the terminal. If they would all just leave, he could compose himself in solitude, and avoid unnecessary attention. If they would all just take their emotions in the other direction, he could try to regain his bearings, and work on stopping the nosebleed which was now going to make his job last even longer.

His head dipped low, Spock watched out of his peripheral vision as techs, doctors, and nurses all went their respective ways. He could still hear people in the room where the person had just passed away, but they were too focused on said person to notice him. However, he couldn't bring his body all the way up yet because for some reason, there was still a single person lingering on the other side of the terminals he was working at. He could feel their curiosity, whoever it was, and impatiently he wished they would move along. The longer he sat here with his head bent over and out of sight, the more it hurt, and the more blood he got all over the floor.

"Ahem," a woman sounded softly.

Spock stayed still, and pretended to be working. Perhaps if he did not answer, she would move on. Humans had done this to him before, so why shouldn't he make the attempt?

"Excuse me," the woman sounded again, this time more forcibly. An errant wave of impatience mixed with concern floated into him, making him wince and let out a gasp. This was the wrong thing to permit to happen.

"Do you need help?" she added in response to the sounds of his distress. Spock chastised himself for being so audible.

'_I did not know a Vulcan could complain as much as you do!'_

"Negative. You may…may continue in your duties," Spock forced himself to answer, his voice weak and soft as old memories resurfaced. Perhaps since he had verbally dismissed the person, she would take her leave.

But she didn't.

"I think you need some help. I thought I saw you bleeding. I'm a nurse, I can help you."

Spock let out a shuddering sigh. Why was it that the people he wished to leave him never did?

"You do not know what it is that you saw. Please, permit me to finish my work," Spock answered harshly while endeavoring to keep his face out of view.

The woman snorted. "Um, I _know_ what I saw, and you can't finish your work if you're bleeding all over the floor, can you," she deadpanned in irritation. Spock understood her feelings. Not only had he called her observational skills incompetent, but she had obviously noticed the mess he was making on the floor, and was becoming annoyed by it. Spock's thoughts instantly brought him to the Dr. McCoy he had witnessed in his dream earlier.

'_When you left, I was kind of relieved because that was one less problem I had to worry about,'_

Spock paled when he realized that despite his best efforts, he was becoming someone else's problem. The mess he was making was becoming someone's problem, and they were obviously disappointed that it could possibly keep him from completing the job he came here for.

"I can…I can assure you that I will properly clean this area, and I will not allow this to interfere with my work. The job will be completed," he answered her, and shut his eyes briefly at a particularly sharp pang in his temple that was quickly followed up by a wave of dizziness. Spock felt the woman's shock at his reply, and he wondered what he had said wrong. What else did she want him to say?

_Perhaps she is waiting for me to state an approximate length of time, _the Vulcan thought to himself, and had barely opened his mouth to give her one when the sound of feet moving stopped him. Before he knew it, instead of the bloodied floor, Spock was looking down at a pair of white shoes instead. Instantly he moved his body and face away to keep the blood from tainting them, but the shoes followed him, and so did a sigh of irritation.

But the emotions he was beginning to feel were far from irritated. In fact, what he felt most of all was concern. Concern and worry.

"Look, stop moving away from me," the woman started loudly at Spock's continued retreat. He instantly stilled at the authority in her voice, and there was a moment where she didn't say anything at all. "I need to make sure you're okay, and I can't do that if you keep hiding from me," she finally finished in soft exasperation, and this time, kneeled down on the floor directly across from him; her hands bracing her body in such a way so as to not touch the green blood.

Spock's shoulders sagged, and he sighed despite himself. It was apparent she was not leaving. Therefore, there was nothing he could do but just look at her and comply. The quicker he complied, the quicker she would finish with him, and he could complete what he'd come to do. In fact, there was probably little reason to worry, because once she saw that it was merely a nosebleed, she would likely just give him material to wipe his face with, and be on her way. It's not as if she knew that such an ailment was a chronic thing for him. Nosebleeds could be attributed to a number of things, and most of them were minor in nature, and did not happen unremittingly.

When Spock finally brought his eyes up to see just who was kneeling in front of him, he was at a loss for words. He knew this person. He had met her over a month ago. It was Amber Beckinsale.

His shocked was mirrored by her own as Amber's eyes widened slightly. Spock could tell she was trying to place his face. He couldn't help but think back to the dream he'd had, and how no one had recognized him. He half-way expected her to do the same thing.

"Wait a minute…Mr. Spock?" Amber questioned almost in a whisper, and Spock couldn't decide if he was relieved that she remembered him, or if he should be worried. The last time he had spoken to her, he had found himself in a very similar situation, which was unfortunate, because now he could not pretend like his nose did not bleed on a chronic basis.

"Mrs. Beckinsale," Spock answered quietly, and resisted the urge to wince as shock momentarily replaced the woman's concern upon learning his identity. "I admit, the chances of us meeting again were not very high, and yet, it does not seem to have mattered…" he went on, feeling unbearably awkward amidst his pain given the current situation. As much as he liked Amber, this was not how he would have wanted her to see him again.

"Mr. Spock, I can't believe it's you! I thought you had—I mean, I knew you couldn't have been human given the…well, you know what I'm trying to say, but I had no idea you'd still be in New York! And, you grew your hair out!" Amber stated erratically, her voice loud with surprise. She then glanced down at the blood, and blushed. "_Dammit_, what am I thinking?" she started miserably to herself before becoming utterly professional. "Please, let me help you into this chair. You shouldn't be on the floor like this," Amber stated with all the authority of a doctor.

Spock reluctantly permitted her to help him. He didn't think he could stand on his own anyway. Not as tired as he was. Even with her aid, it was a struggle to get into the chair, but he managed it. Once he was seated, Spock let out a deep exhale and tried to settle the dizziness that moving up off the floor had inspired.

"Let me get something for that," she went on, indicating to his nose, and rushed off to a cart on the other side of the hallway. When she came back, she had a medical towel in her hand which she handed over to Spock.

He accepted it without question and placed it up to his bleeding nose. His head was pounding, but it was slightly better now that he was seated in a chair, and not balancing himself on the floor, pretending to do work that he wasn't doing.

"You know, I seem to remember similar circumstances when I first met you. Do you remember that?" Amber commented as she pulled up a chair in front of him, and went into the front pocket of her medical scrubs to pull out a tricorder.

Spock stiffened at the sight, and brought the towel down. His blood instantly started rushing out of his nose again without the added pressure. "What are you doing?" he asked her before he could stop himself.

Amber gave him a frustrated look, and eyed the bloodied towel. "I'm scanning you," she deadpanned before forcibly bringing the hand with the towel back up to his face. He jerked at the contact, and she gave him a sympathetic glance while retracting her hand. "Sorry. I forgot about the Vulcan touching thing, but this is the second time I've found you bleeding all over yourself, and I told you then that it's not normal. Fortunately, you've caught me in my natural habitat," she explained in what was supposed to be a lighthearted tone.

Spock scooted his chair away from her. She flinched at the retreat, and he could feel a pang of hurt rise up within her. He felt guilty, but it was necessary. He did not want a medical professional prying into his personal affairs. What if they discovered too much? What if his father were sent a message?

"I recall what it is that you said to me that day, and while I appreciate your concern, I do not require medical assistance," he informed her, and made to stand up. A wave of dizziness brought him back down though. Why had he still not regained his composure? Why was he still this weak? Why was his heart still racing?

Amber had witnessed his struggle, and frowned. "Really? Because it looks like you do need it. You can't even stand properly," she went on gently and began waving the tricorder around him.

Spock watched the device like it was a diseased thing, but said nothing. She was right. He couldn't even manage to rise up out of his chair. He was helpless at the moment, and could do nothing but endure her examination. He felt a sense of dread when Amber frowned at the tricorder, and gave him a pitying glance. Underneath her gaze, Spock felt her worry begin to heighten, and he knew what she had likely found wasn't good.

"Tell me, Mr. Spock. Are you hungry?" she asked in a sad voice after a few seconds. It didn't sound like a question though. It sounded like a declaration. Like she _knew_ he was hungry, and that she was upset by it. Truth be told, Spock couldn't say he had an appetite. Not after what had just happened to him tonight, but if she was using the same kind of tricorder that Dr. McCoy utilized on the Enterprise, then she likely saw the malnourishment. In fact, given what he had seen in the mirror before leaving for Bellevue earlier, his weight issues really did not need to be diagnosed with a tricorder.

"Negative. Is that all?" he answered quickly, and a bit impatiently.

"Mr. Spock, if this tricorder is reading you correctly, you _should_ be hungry. Your body is showing signs of stress from being underweight, which means you're malnourished. In fact, now that I'm looking at you properly, you do look awfully thin in your face. Thinner than when I last saw you even," Amber stated quietly, but her concern was very palpable. It grabbed at him, and the Vulcan felt like he would be pulled down by it.

"It is…an issue I am dealing with," Spock managed with difficulty.

Amber sighed. "You're not getting enough sleep either. You're showing signs of exhaustion, and…" she paused when Spock stiffened and turned in his chair. He had felt the doctor passing by them long before Amber had even noticed his presence. However, she _did_ notice the momentary expression of fear on his face as the doctor passed.

With a purse of her lips, Amber brought the tricorder down, and handed him a new towel to replace the one he was holding. "Let me guess. You'd do anything not to have to see a doctor, right?"

Spock blinked at her, and was momentarily surprised at how perceptive she was. Or…he had just gotten horrible at hiding his emotionalism. "I would…prefer not to see a medical doctor, correct," he started quietly, and watched as her frown deepened. He decided that perhaps a bit of honesty might work in his favor. "What ails me, it is not something a human doctor can correct."

Amber raised a brow in bemusement. "What do you mean? Like…is this a Vulcan thing?"

"Yes."

"Well, what are you doing about it?" she instantly asked, her voice bordering on exasperation.

Spock brought the towel down from his face, and was relieved to see that his nose had stopped bleeding. However, the migraine was still there, and he wished he had access to a sink. He hated the smell of blood in his nose. "I have requested a Vulcan Healer to come to the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco. When he arrives, he will be treating me," Spock lied, and oh how he loathed the simplicity of the act. It horrified him how adept he had become at lying. His entire life it seemed was full of lies that he had told, whether to himself, or to those around him.

Amber looked at him skeptically. "And when is this supposed to happen?"

"Soon," he answered immediately, his own gaze unwavering.

"Well…what about in the meantime? I mean, these are some serious issues, Mr. Spock. I don't see why coming to a human doctor would be so bad. You are half human, aren't you?" Amber went on, and Spock desperately wished to just tell her to leave it alone. To quit questioning him. But he did not wish to be rude. This woman in front of him was one of the only humans who had been kind or caring to him since he'd arrived back on Earth, and at no benefit to herself. Even now, she was still endeavoring to be nothing but concerned.

And…he had to admit, such a thing felt good in lieu of his horrible nightmare.

"That is merely one of the reasons why I do not seek out a medical doctor on Earth. My physiology is unique. There are officially no other human/Vulcan hybrids in existence aside from myself. Therefore, any treatment plan would be difficult to put together where I am concerned," Spock sought to clarify.

Amber did not appear convinced.

"Difficult. Sure. But not impossible. I don't think that's a good enough reason to not see a doctor. At least if only to put an end to those nosebleeds—,"

"I do not wish to _see_ a doctor, and I will not be forced to _see_ one," Spock cut her off harshly, and winced at the emotions he inspired within the nurse. He had offended her. She was merely doing her duty as a nurse, and he had berated her for it.

A long moment passed awkwardly by before Amber stood up from her chair. Now, he supposed, she would take her leave of him. Now she had probably deemed it too much of a complication to convince him to accept medical assistance. Now, he could—_would—_be alone again.

Spock would have stood along with her, but he wasn't sure he could manage it yet. The dizziness was still there and the last thing he wanted to do was fall over after assuring someone he needed no help.

Amber sighed after another moment, and peered down at him. "I wouldn't force you to do anything, Mr. Spock. Legally? I can't."

Spock, who had been looking down at his hands, peered up at her. This was not the first time someone had stated something similar to him, and he felt horrible for yet again comparing the actions of Admiral Marcus with that of this caring human woman in front of him.

His inner conflictions went unnoticed by Amber as she continued on. "But I can tell you that I don't approve. I don't approve of you waiting around for a Vulcan doctor to come to Earth when you could be being treated right now. I don't agree with your reasoning's to not see a doctor when I'm beyond sure that the hospital could open communications with New Vulcan, and relay a treatment plan for you. This isn't the twentieth century, Mr. Spock. There are ways to get around the distance between planets."

Spock blushed at that, for she was right, and he wasn't sure how he would talk his way out of that argument.

"_And_," she started again in a more heated tone of voice. "Quite frankly? I feel that you're hiding something. Especially given that expression on your face when Dr. Scranz walked by," Amber finished sincerely.

Spock immediately wanted to assure her that he wasn't hiding anything, and that he disagreed with the points she had just made, but he couldn't. He was speechless. In that moment, the emotions as well as innate perceptiveness the woman had just exhibited toward him had been so reminiscent of Amanda. For a moment, it was as if his mother had been standing there and lecturing him, and not a woman he barely knew.

Amber was not his mother. No one could ever replace her. But she worried for him as a mother would for a child. As Amanda would have worried for him. For a moment, Spock felt a strange sort of satisfaction at the thought that Amber Beckinsale had chosen her profession well, and he felt an additional strange sense of comfort in once again being reminded that he could be worried about so much.

But, had he not already decided that worrying led to a need to find answers? A need to know more? Was that not one of the main reasons Spock had ended his relationship with Jim?

_And look how it has affected you? _

"If we are both in agreement, then I must excuse myself. I have work to complete," Spock finally managed to say, effectively cutting off his inner thoughts at the dark turn they had taken. It mattered not how he was _affected_ in the face of how everyone else would be affected should the truth be uncovered.

Amber blinked at him, and then looked around at the terminals. Her eyes widened a bit. "Wait, are you the guy who's updating our systems? From Global X? The tech guy? That's where you're working now?" she asked in disbelief, as if she couldn't believe that the former First Officer of the Enterprise was spending his nights updating software on computer systems for varying companies. Spock wondered what her reaction would be if she discovered what his day job was.

Wishing to appear functional, Spock decided to make the attempt to stand again before he answered her query. It was difficult, but hopefully he was making it appear quite easy.

Once he was sure he would not fall, seeing no other way around it, Spock told the truth. "Affirmative, and I must return my focus to that work if I wish to complete it in the allotted time frame." It was spoken lowly, as if a part of him didn't want her to know what he was doing back on Earth.

Amber backed away from him at that, and Spock hated the confusion pouring off of her in waves. She was obviously baffled, and in a state of disbelief. She was probably pondering how he could really go from a _Commander_ in Starfleet to where he was now. Not only was did Spock find her emotions painful to feel, but he also felt humiliated for what felt like the 50th time this evening. This was a woman who had thanked him for his service in the Fleet. This was a woman who had thanked him for saving the planet. She obviously held him in high respect.

How far would that respect fall now that she knew what had become of him?

"It is not a…permanent position," Spock added unnecessarily at her continued silence, and prepared himself to bend down and clean the mess his nose had made on the floor. It was not all a lie. He had no intentions of spending the rest of his days in New York City. Once his debt to Starfleet had been paid off, he intended on working his way to a more rural area. He wanted to believe that the more rural the location, the easier it would become to manage his migraines. Spock doubted he could spend the rest of his life living with the pain he was currently living with. The only thing that got him through on a day-to-day basis was that someday it would all end.

"Don't do that, Mr. Spock. I can get it. You don't need to be bending over a lot at the moment. Not with the readings I just took," Amber chastised him when she saw him bending down with the towel in his hand. Spock wondered what about malnourishment and exhaustion made her wary of him bending over, but decided not to ask.

"That is quite unnecessary. I am perfectly capable of—,"

"I've _got this_, Mr. Spock," Amber stated firmly, and placed herself in front of him. Spock errantly noted that she refrained from touching him. "It's part of my job to do this. If you need me to cite the insurance reasons why you shouldn't be cleaning this yourself, I can cite them," Amber went on pointedly, and the Vulcan had to admit that she was right. He still did not have to like it though.

"As you wish," he bit out, having nothing else to say.

She smiled at him. "See? I'm already starting to sway you."

Spock felt his lip twitch. "Indeed," he stated apathetically. She might be able to use regulation to keep him cleaning up the floor, but she still wouldn't be able to _sway_ him into seeing a doctor.

She chuckled at him, and Spock felt her amusement like a warm breeze in the face of all the harrowing emotions littering the critical care ward. It was odd how some foreign emotions had the ability to make him feel better. Emotions were emotions, were they not?

"I'll be right back. I need to get something for this, and don't you dare get back on that floor," Amber warned him in that motherly tone before disappearing off down the opposite end of the hallway. Spock watched her leave, and the logical part of him considered making an exit himself. As much as he found Amber's presence agreeable, and somewhat craved, he did not want to risk further questioning by her. Perhaps he could complete his work on the other floors and then come back to this one before he left? After all, she had already told him she wouldn't make him see a doctor, so what further reason was there for him to stay in her presence? In fact, he was wasting valuable company time by _remaining _in her presence.

And yet…

What seemed logical just wasn't something Spock wanted to do, and he blamed it all on his petty nightmare.

Truth be told, he _did_ want to be in Amber's presence. He _did_ want to converse with her, because even though there was a possibility of her questioning him further about the origins of his condition, the mere idea of conversation with someone outside of a work relationship was alluring to the Vulcan. The only conversation he had had in the past two months had been purely professional, and most of the time, quite negative. Yes, Wesley had been friendly and amicable toward Spock, but as far as conversation went, he left much to be desired.

Unlike Jim had done, Wesley had never sought to learn things about Spock purely because he wanted to. (Though, Spock was becoming unsure as to how much Jim had wanted to know about him; and what he had merely felt obligated to ask the Vulcan about.)

True, Wesley had inquired about Spock personally on his first day, but it had ended there. _At my request, _Spock reminded himself. It bothered him that he should even feel such an emotional need for the variation of conversation he was hoping to instigate with Amber. He was Vulcan. He should not permit the social interactions he had outside of a professional setting to rule over him at such a high degree. A Vulcan did not have friends. It was not logical. His father had said so.

That had happened when Spock had been a child. He had come home from his lessons one afternoon, and cried to his mother about not having any friends. Sarek had found him in his mother's arms, and told Spock that he should not cry for such a thing. That _friends _served purely as emotional support in an emotionally based relationship. Sarek had told him that as a Vulcan, he should have no need for such support, and then he had chastised Amanda for enabling him to aspire for such a thing. Spock remembered his mother and Sarek having an argument that night because of it. He remembered his mother threatening to leave Vulcan with Spock, and return to Earth.

Spock had been scared that night upon hearing such a threat. He knew nothing of his mother's people, and he did not look like them. Despite his nonVulcan behavior, Spock had known he would stand apart from the humans given his stark Vulcan features. How could he hope to belong to Earth given such an appearance? He would not even be given a chance to belong. Spock might have not been able to belong amongst his own people on Vulcan, but he was terrified of reliving such a thing on Earth.

It was on that night that Spock had decided to devote himself entirely to the Vulcan way. He had pledged to never shed a single tear again. He remembered thinking that if he had not come home and cried—if he had been a proper Vulcan—his parents would not have argued, and his mother would not have cried. If he had been more like his father, his mother would never have cried all the days of his adolescence, because, despite the pledge Spock had made, his emotions had still continued to control him. Amanda had only ever cried because of that failure.

Amanda had died because of his failures, and she had cried so much over his emotionalism. Therefore, Spock should be content with his solitude. In solitude, he could fail no one. So, as much as the Vulcan wished for someone to have a conversation with, he could not permit himself this. He would remove himself from the temptation to.

However, before Spock could leave, Amber had returned. He had spent too long coming to a decision. He had been too slow.

"How many floors have you gone through?" she asked casually as she slid to her knees in front of him, sanitizing equipment in her hands.

"Four. This floor is my fifth one to visit," Spock answered, and inwardly groaned at the realization that he still had so much work to complete, and it was already about to be eleven o'clock.

Amber paused amidst her endeavor to clean, and looked up at him. "You still have quite a bit to do, don't you," she stated sympathetically, as if reading his thoughts.

Spock nodded tiredly, and resisted the urge to massage his head. "Indeed I do. Which is why I must continue working. I thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Beckinsale," he stated, and made to grab his PADD from the terminal he had been working on when the _'code blue'_ had been called.

"Are you leaving?" she prodded him in bemusement as Spock began walking away. He could feel her despondency at his departure, which was…strange to him.

"Affirmative. I must move on to another floor," Spock answered. He would come back to this ward later when he was sure Amber Beckinsale would not be present. He should have come here last anyway given the type of ward it was.

Oddly enough, she did not verbally protest his departure as much as he thought she would have. In fact, she had said nothing in response to his answer, and when Spock got onto the turbolift and ascended to the next floor, he wasn't sure if he should be relieved, or upset about that.

**((oOo))**

The next two hours were grueling for Spock. While the other floors were not as intense as the critical care ward had been, he still continued to struggle, and mainly because he was pushing himself twice as hard to update every system. The incident in critical care had set him far behind schedule, and that had left him no choice but to double up on his efforts. However, _'doubling up'_ was far easier said than done. How did one increase their output when they had no energy to spare? How did one push past limits when the limit had already been passed? On the Enterprise before Spock's mind had been damaged, he could have completed these tasks in a very small amount of time, and with very little effort.

Spock had experienced jealousy earlier today over another man taking his place on the Enterprise, and now at the hospital, he was experiencing it again for his former self. He was jealous of how easily he had been able to do things before, and he was regretful of how much he had taken those things for granted when he had still been able to do them.

Every floor held its own emotional aspect, and now that he had finally updated the last computer terminal in the _orthopedic ward_, the Vulcan felt like collapsing onto the floor and sleeping for days. Nightmares or no nightmares, he just wanted to close his eyes…

Spock wasn't even aware that he'd closed his eyes when a sharp protest from his head jolted them open. Throughout the past two hours, Spock's migraine had never let up. In fact, it had just gotten worse, and he knew that no matter how tired he became, the migraine would have to calm down before he would even be able to think about going to sleep.

When Spock finally forced himself to get up from the terminal and head back to the turbolift, the dizziness from before returned, and he grabbed the wall in support. It struck him that he had never grabbed so many walls in his life in such a short amount of time. Such a gesture made him feel helpless and vulnerable. It didn't help that Spock knew these feelings to be true. He was quite helpless, and he was quite vulnerable. He wanted nothing more than to return to his hotel room so that he could be these things in solitude.

Except, he was scared that he might not even be able to manage that.

Spock had barely stumbled back over to the turbolift when he remembered the terminals he had not finished updating in the _critical care ward_. He sighed. Loudly. And the nurse manning the front desk peered up at him quizzically. He had obviously distracted her with his vocal need to express his irritation.

"I apologize," he muttered before disappearing into the turbolift and descending back down to where his pain and exhaustion had truly began. He hadn't even bothered to wait for a reply.

The orderly he had seen from two hours ago was behind the desk upon his arrival, and gave Spock a confused look when he saw him again, but said nothing. Fortunately, the _critical care ward_ was not as emotionally vibrant as it had been two hours ago. However, Spock knew how quickly such a thing could change, and consequently set off as rapidly as his disoriented limbs would take him down the hallway and toward the terminals he had left unfinished. Spock was grateful for that.

After seating himself in front of the first terminal, he quickly recounted how many he had left to update. Eight. There were eight left. Just eight more terminals and he could leave and make his way back to his room. He hoped it was still not raining outside. He had not heard the thunder in some time, but that did not mean a thing. It could very well still be pouring.

Errantly the Vulcan spared the spot on the floor where his blood had been two hours ago a glance, which led him to think about Amber. He wondered if she had gone home, or if she was perhaps still in the hospital making her rounds. Wherever she was, she had probably long forgotten about Spock.

Wishing to put a stop to the emotional train of thought, Spock turned back to the terminal, and set to updating it. It was not until he had two terminals left that he was forced to stop. A _'code blue'_ had not been called, but when he suddenly became so dizzy that he could barely make out the encryption on the terminal screen, Spock had to stop.

Scooting the chair backward in such a way that the legs scraped loudly across the floor, Spock leaned over and held his head in his hands. He was silently willing his symptoms to leave him with as much sincerity and willpower as he could manage.

_Just two terminals remain. I have two terminals left, and then I can leave. Two terminals…_Spock kept repeating to himself, hoping that every time he mentally said it, it might be just the push he needed to gather his bearings and move forward.

"Mr. Spock?"

Spock stiffened.

"Mrs…Beckinsale," he managed with difficulty, and brought his head up. Only, it wasn't just Amber standing there. There was a young doctor beside her, perhaps just a few years older than him. Upon further inspection, Spock realized it was the same doctor who had been standing by the couple from earlier. The couple who had lost their daughter.

Spock blinked, and grimaced when a pang of nervousness came at him from Amber. The man beside her was feeling nothing but detached concern, and perhaps a bit of intrigue toward him, but it was still uncomfortable nevertheless.

Aware that he still had not said anything, Spock straightened up in his chair, and did his best to appear composed. "I do not have the time to converse with you, Mrs. Beckinsale. I have a duty to perform," he stated shortly, and turned back to the terminal. She had brought a doctor over to him, and why? Had he not informed her that he did not wish to see a doctor? That he was able to handle himself? Why did no one care about his wants?

"Mr. Spock, I know what you said; that you didn't want to see a doctor, but I—," Amber started nervously.

"And yet, it would appear that what I say bares little significance," Spock bit out before he could stop himself. He knew he was being rude, but he couldn't help himself. He felt the need to express his irritation.

"Mr. Spock, Amber is just concerned—," the doctor attempted to intervene, but the Vulcan wasn't having it. He did not wish for anyone's concern. It never lasted anyway, and it would be far better not to experience it all.

"I am speaking to Mrs. Beckinsale, Doctor. Not to you."

This time it was the doctor blinking at Spock, apparently unsure of how to interpret his brazenness. If Spock were being honest, he wasn't sure how to interpret his brazenness either.

At his curt words, a surge of boldness enveloped Amber, and when the doctor standing beside her opened his mouth to reply, she spoke instead. "Spock, you're a walking time bomb. Surely someone as smart as you knows that," she said harshly, but low enough so that if anyone came along, they wouldn't be able to overhear them. Spock wanted to reply, but her words had struck a chord with him. He couldn't help but wonder what else she'd seen on her tricorder readings from earlier to bring her to such a conclusion.

While Amber's gaze was defiant, the doctor was peering at Spock thoughtfully in response to her words, and Spock couldn't help but feel like he was being analyzed. Instantly the Vulcan resisted the urge to cover himself with his hands. He hated being analyzed. "I couldn't _knowingly_ let you walk out of here without at least trying to help you. You didn't see those readings. I did. You need medical attention, and Dr. Rinehart can help you. He's promised not to—" she attempted, and this time, Spock was strongly reminded of Nyota.

"That may be the case. However, I have already declined that medical attention. Therefore, there is little to discuss," Spock hissed in barely controlled irritation. He could not see a doctor. A doctor would press for answers. A doctor would contact New Vulcan to get them. He had to keep such a thing from happening.

It was on that thought that the Vulcan decided he had to leave Bellevue. He would take whatever reprimand that Mr. Morton sought to give him for not updating the last two terminals, but he could not stay here anymore. If Amber was as passionate about her position as Spock ascertained that she was, then he knew without a doubt she would not let the issue rest.

"If you will excuse me, I have completed what I can in the endeavor to update your _SLkeyC_ system. I believe it is time for me to depart," Spock announced with an averted gaze, and abruptly stood.

"Spock, wait," Amber started pleadingly when she realized he was making a break for it.

"Amber…" Dr. Rinehart started in a resigned voice. He was ready to give up, it seemed. That was not surprising.

Spock ignored them both, winced at Amber's desperation, pushed past them, and had gotten nearly fifteen feet down the hallway when he realized he'd forgotten…

"You forgot your PADD, Mr. Spock," Amber stated firmly, indicating that he would have to come back and get it himself if he wanted it.

Spock halted, but did not turn around. He couldn't, for at the exact moment that Amber had spoken, somewhere in the ward, perhaps on the opposite end of it, someone else was dying. His head erupted in pain, and he vaguely heard the sounds of a '_code blue'_ being announced over the intercom.

"Mr. Spock?" this time, it was Dr. Rinehart who'd spoken, his tone edged with doctorly concern.

Spock opened his mouth to respond; to assure them that he was functional, but he couldn't. The overwhelming fear had returned to completely encompass him, making his heartbeat increase and race erratically. He realized through the disorientation that he had somehow ended up on his knees, clutching at his head. That horrible sense of dread came over him again a moment later, and all coherent thought ceased. All Spock could think about was that he didn't want to die. He was scared of death. It wasn't fair that he was leaving so soon…

"Spock?" Amber's voice sounded obscenely close to him, and this time she sounded extremely worried. Spock flinched away when a feminine hand grasped his shoulder.

"No, don't touch him. Mr. Spock, can you hear me?" Dr. Rinehart voiced, and strangely it sounded like it had been said right in front of his face.

That was odd. Spock could have sworn that the doctor and Amber were behind him. Not in front of him.

"You see? This happened earlier, I'm sure of it. Please, help him."

"Mr. Spock, can you stand? Will you allow me to assist you?" Spock heard the doctor ask him. Before he was even aware of it, Spock nodded his head, and instantly two pairs of hands groped him underneath the arm pits and hefted him off the floor. He felt himself being gently, but firmly pushed along. "Help me get him into the turbolift. We need to get him off this floor," Rinehart ordered quietly, and Spock errantly wondered if perhaps the other techs and nurses were watching the scene.

How humiliating.

Spock still had his eyes closed when he heard the turbolift doors slide shut.

"Hit the button for the fourteenth floor," Rinehart ordered, his hands still supporting the Vulcan.

When the lift started moving, Spock groaned in relief a few seconds later when as overwhelming emotions started to slowly leave him. His head still screamed, and his heart was still racing, but in the mental sense, Spock was starting to feel like one person again. He shuddered to think that that was either because of the decreasing proximity to the critical care ward, or because the owner of the emotions had died.

When the doors opened, Spock had opened his eyes again, and was already trying to compose himself.

"Mr. Spock, can you walk?" Dr. Rinehart asked him when he noticed Spock attempting to right himself.

The Vulcan still didn't trust himself to speak given the lingering disorientation, and the migraine, but he was able to nod. Whether or not he _could_ walk out of the turbolift was still unknown, but Spock would definitely make the attempt. A surge of relief swept through him when he successfully walked out of the lift unassisted, though Dr. Rinehart and Amber were just beside him in case he should fall. Fortunately, he didn't.

"Dr. Rinehart, is everything alright?" someone asked from the front desk. Spock peered up and noticed by the flashing sign on the wall that he was in the cardiology department. He couldn't bring himself to care. Anywhere was better than the critical care ward.

"Here, just through here, Mr. Spock—," Rinehart directed urgently, and indicated to a room a few feet away before looking at the nurse who'd spoken to him. "Yes, Nurse Jackson. Everything's fine here," he finished just before all three of them walked into the room.

"Lie down right over there, Mr. Spock," the doctor furthered and pointed to a bio-bed once they were inside. Amber, Spock noted, shut the door, placed Spock's PADD down on a desk, and quickly returned back over to him; her eyes alight with worry. He couldn't help but feel wary about her shutting the door though, and his own eyes stayed glued to it—as if looking at it hard enough would somehow open it again. He didn't want the door closed. He wanted to be able to leave should he choose to do so. He _needed_ to leave. But he couldn't. The Vulcan felt like if he tried to take another step, he would fall face first onto the floor.

Despite such a feeling though, the Vulcan was reluctant to take refuge on the biobed. A biobed was where examinations took place, and he did not want to be examined.

The doctor noticed his reluctance, and followed Spock's hard gaze to the door. Amber followed his gaze as well, and Spock couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy from her when she saw just where he was looking. Dr. Rinehart narrowed his eyes as if he'd just connected something in his mind, but the emotions being exhibited by the man gave Spock no clues as to what it might be.

"Mr. Spock. I need you to lie down," he stated gently, but with all the firmness of someone in charge. He then turned and pulled out a tricorder to scan him with.

Spock eyed the tricorder and shook his head. "Negative. I do not require your assistance. I am…I am functional…" he tried to assure them as clearly as possible, but the longer he talked, the dizzier he became. Suddenly the biobed sounded like a logical idea, and on that though, Spock couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with him. Before the hospital, he had _never_ felt this way. Sure sometimes he would become disoriented, but never to this degree. The migraines were definitely nothing new, but this vertigo? This inability to regain his composure? It was so reminiscent of the time he'd spent on Altriri IV. He felt like he had with the Priest. Completely helpless and at the whims of another person.

Dr. Rinehart, who was looking at his tricorder, spared it a concerned glance, handed it to Amber, and then set his gaze back on the Vulcan. "Tell me, Mr. Spock. Are you feeling lightheaded at all? Perhaps a headache?"

Spock looked at him, but didn't answer. He was feeling both of these things, but he saw no reason to tell the man in front of him.

Dr. Rinehart sighed and stepped closer to Spock who instantly took a heavy step backward and away from him, his posterior hitting the edge of the biobed. Rinehart stopped his advance, and his eyes softened a bit. "Look, I know you don't want to see a doctor. Amber told me you've got a Vulcan healer coming to treat you?"

Spock quickly looked at Amber before fixing his gaze back on Dr. Rinehart. "That is correct," he answered weakly.

"When?"

"I…do not know. Soon," was all Spock could manage. He didn't have the energy to come up with an elaborate lie.

"_Soon_ isn't good enough, Mr. Spock. Not with the reading I just took. You need medical attention."

"I do not—," Spock started to rebuff, only to be cut off.

"Amber told me about the nosebleeds, Mr. Spock. Are those a chronic thing? Tell me how long you think you can go on with a condition like that, and not suffer serious consequences," the man deadpanned.

Spock narrowed his eyes. "I am Vulcan. What is serious for you, might not be a serious issue for—,"

"Save it, Mr. Spock. I am no Vulcan doctor, but I do have a little experience in treating them. I was one of the doctors that aided your people when Vulcan was destroyed."

Spock stiffened at the reference, and his racing heart sank. He had been hoping the man would have little experience with Vulcans, and that because of that, he would be deterred from wanting to treat him.

His rigid posture didn't go unnoticed, and quickly the two medical professionals spared one another a glance. Dr. Rinehart sighed heavily before continuing. "I don't know much about Vulcan telepathy, or if perhaps these readings are a direct result of that. That's something a more specialized doctor would have to determine, which is why I would recommend putting in a subspace call to New Vulcan and inquiring for some outside guidance on a treatment plan suited to your biology while you wait for the Vulcan doctor to arrive."

Spock was already shaking his head on the word, _'subspace call'_. "Negative. I do not wish—,"

"I knew you would say 'no' to that, which is quite frankly—disappointing, because the unfortunate thing is, I would would need your permission regarding any treatment plan for you, and it seems that for whatever reason, you're hell bent on not treating yourself," Dr. Rinehart interrupted, and Spock noted the way Amber's expression fell into one of dismay.

"Another doctor might say _'to hell'_ with the entire thing and send you on your way, but I know you're in pain, Mr. Spock. These readings show it plain as day, even if you _are_ denying it. And—_please_ allow me to finish," Dr. Rinehart started hastily when Spock opened his mouth yet again to deny any pain the doctor thought he had. "If you would allow me to, and I must insist that you do, there is one particular reading on this tricorder that I would like to share with you. I think that it could be why you're suffering chronic nosebleeds," he paused as if to consider something. "At least, I think it might be playing a large role in why you are getting them. At least hear me out on that."

Spock swallowed, and he had to admit, he was just a little bit curious at what the doctor claimed to have found. It was just looking a reading. Nothing more. Spock could handle that.

"Very well, Doctor."

Instantly Spock felt relief from both of the humans at his acquiescence and Amber visibly smiled at him. Jim had smiled at him like that once…

"Alright. Firstly, will you please lie down on the biobed. I would like to take another scan so that I compare the two readings, and I would like you relaxed for this."

"Is that necessary?" Spock asked, his thoughts instantly coming away from Jim. He still didn't want to lie on the biobed, especially if the doctor assumed he would find relaxation from it. Such a thing was very doubtful.

"Yes. It is. I need to take another reading to determine if my theory is correct," the man stated, his eyes indicating to the bed. "Please. It is only a tricorder reading."

Suddenly Spock felt very foolish. He was being spoken to as if he were a scared child afraid of receiving a hypo-vaccine. His behavior embarrassed him, and as a result, Spock nodded and laid himself down. The doctor had just told he wouldn't do anything without his consent. Therefore, lying down on a biobed should not be a problem.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock. Now I'm just going to scan you again…" Rinehart started, and brought the tricorder up and over him. Spock took that time to inhale and exhale deeply in an attempt to slow his heart rate back down. After a few moments, he found that his attempts were succeeding. Already the disorientation was lessening, and aside from the still present migraine, Spock felt as if he could walk again without issue should he attempt it.

Dr. Rinehart noticed his breathing exercises, and decided to do another scan. Spock permitted him to. Now that he was lying here, he _did_ find it rather relaxing. This floor was much quieter than the others in the hospital, and aside from the two humans in the room with him, he did not feel so bombarded by emotions that were not his anymore.

The doctor made an interesting sound with his mouth before handing the tricorder off to Amber. "Record that number there. The one I just took," he told her.

"So, you agree with me? You think that could be causing them?" she asked him eagerly, and it irritated Spock that he had no idea what they were conversing about.

"Dr. Rinehart, if you would enlighten me to this 'reading'?" he asked loudly, and relished in the ease with which he was able to speak. Lying down had obviously benefited him greatly.

The doctor glanced at Amber, and then back at Spock. "Amber told me that when she took a reading on you a couple of hours ago, that your blood pressure looked abnormal. She wasn't sure though, because she's not familiar with what constitutes a normal BP in Vulcans. However, based on my readings, I can confirm that your blood pressure is extremely abnormal, Mr. Spock."

Spock sat himself up on the bed and silently willed the doctor to continue.

"Down on the fourth floor, your readings were 130/82, which, in a human being, _could _be considered pre-hypertension. However, in a Vulcan? That is a severe number, Mr. Spock. In fact, I would even call it a hypertensive crisis in your case."

Spock shook his head in confusion. How would Dr. McCoy have missed such a condition? However, Dr. Rinehart's next words answered his question.

"I believe that you're chronically experiencing spikes in your blood pressure. In other words: it's not high all of the time. Why? I'm not sure. Many people have high blood pressure, and I can't determine why you have it to this extreme unless I took certain steps to find out. There are several things that could cause it, and I don't even want to tell you how many tests I would like to run to discover that cause, but I have reason to believe that during these spikes, your blood pressure increases so severely that you go into hypertensive crisis, and the nosebleeds are the result. It would also explain the disorientation, the rapid heartbeat, the exhaustion…"

"So, you are inferring that my nosebleeds are attributed to a rise in my blood pressure?" Spock interjected; wanting to be sure he had heard it correctly.

"That is a theory, Mr. Spock. I obviously cannot be one hundred percent sure unless I did more testing to rule out other underlying causes. I do know that the reading I just took showed your blood pressure at a nice Vulcan 80/40, and I'm a bit surprised at how quickly it came back down. Perhaps those breathing exercises you were just doing helped bring it down, but if my theory is correct, then that's why your nose isn't bleeding right now. Somehow, we were able to stop it rising before that could happen."

Perhaps that was why Dr. McCoy had not diagnosed it. Spock had been careful to avoid the man every time he suffered a nose bleed, while Amber Beckinsale had witnessed him undergo _two _of them. If his spikes in blood pressure were as intermittent as the doctor was claiming they were, then it would be very easy to miss the condition altogether. Spock was ashamed though that he had not figured this out for himself. A Vulcan was supposed to be one with their body, and yet Spock couldn't feel any further away from his.

Not that that feeling was anything new.

"How do I correct this?" Spock asked humbly.

"If you were fully human, I would prescribe you with a common blood pressure medication, and then I would perform a series of tests to determine why you are experiencing hypertension, and especially in the way that _you_ are experiencing it. However, given your unique physiology, I can't just write a general prescription for a medication when I have no idea how you will react to it," Rinehart paused and leveled his eyes at him. "I _need_ to bring in a Vulcan specialist, or at least get your permission to contact New Vulcan and ask them how to proceed by way of testing. Please, Mr. Spock, allow me to do this," the doctor finished in as desperate a voice as the Vulcan had heard from him thus far.

Spock felt utterly conflicted in that moment as he weighed the doctor's words. Truth be told, he was scared. He was scared that something as trivial as high blood pressure could illicit such a reaction in him. He had _never_ had hypertension before, and as far as he knew, Vulcans rarely every experienced it given their ability to control their bodily functions. The only ones that had were Vulcans with heart issues. Was something wrong with his heart? Spock paled on that thought, and hated how easily his own fear was brought to the surface.

He wanted so much in that moment to just give in and let the doctor find out what was happening to him, and why. It was so tempting to just say yes, and then perhaps he could put an end to his health issues altogether. What was stopping him? He had told himself earlier that he would start taking better care of himself. Would this not be a form of that?

Suddenly though, Spock remembered that he could feel the other's emotions in the room. He could feel how much they wanted to help him. How much they wanted him to help himself, and he had to wonder if that was influencing his decision. Moments ago he had been convinced that he was dying purely by experiencing someone else's emotions as they themselves died. Was it so unthinkable that the same wasn't happening now? That his want to let himself be taken care of wasn't a direct result of experiencing Amber and Dr. Rinehart's _want _to assist him?

No. He could not allow this. He had told himself that he would handle his own problems. He could not permit a Vulcan specialist to see to him, and he could not afford to have his father find out that he was in New York City. He had promised not only himself, but Jim, and Admiral Marcus that he would take his secret with him to the grave if necessary. A treatment plan was out of the question if it meant going through New Vulcan to obtain it.

"I cannot allow that," Spock answered in a hollow voice, and winced as disappointment shredded through him from both of the humans. There was nothing for it though. He couldn't have Dr. Rinehart contact New Vulcan.

"Mr. Spock. Please reconsider. Please," Amber voiced desperately.

Spock stood up abruptly from the biobed, and ignored the wave of vertigo that came over him from getting up so quickly. "I can control my blood pressure. I am Vulcan. I can control such a thing," he stated, and more to himself than to anyone else. It was as if saying it would make it true.

Dr. Rinehart snorted and his eyes widened. "Obviously, you can't Mr. Spock! You _can't_! You need to treat this!"

"I can control it, Doctor. I was not aware of it before, but I am now. Therefore, I can devote more time to controlling it. It is all a matter of calming oneself. Next time, I will be prepared," Spock argued, and wanted so desperately to believe his own lie.

"Next time?" Amber suddenly shouted, making Spock's migraine protest vibrantly. "Next time it might not just be a nosebleed, Spock. Next time you could have a heart attack. This isn't a game!" she continued to argue loudly.

Spock glared at her. "I am aware of the risks, Mrs. Beckinsale, but they are my risks to take," he stated and then turned to Dr. Rinehart who was looking at him in pity. "I thank you for apprising me of this information, Doctor. And, I thank you for assisting me as much as you have. However, I must decline any further treatment, and I must request that no subspace calls be made to New Vulcan, or any Vulcan specialist on my behalf. If you do so, I will be forced to take legal action," Spock finished in the sternest tone he could manage. He inwardly flinched at the shock the two human's exhibited as a result of his threat, but again, it had been necessary.

This was his burden to bear. He knew that from the very beginning. They would understand if they knew as much as he did.

"Mr. Spock….please," Amber voiced a moment later, and Spock hated how much she still wanted to help him. How much she still cared.

"I must be leaving now. Please stand aside," the Vulcan requested, his eyes set straight ahead of him.

The two humans looked at each other before slowly moving apart to grant him passage. Spock didn't hesitate. He marched right between them, grabbed his PADD off the desk, and walked out into the hallway. Eventually he found his way out of the hospital and unfortunately, back into the shrill rain.

He spared the large sign that said, '_Bellevue Hospital' _a glance before setting off toward the subway station, his head pounding with every step. He had no intentions of _ever _coming back to it.

**Okay, I hope I didn't shatter too many souls. Also, I did try and do some research on the medical aspects to this chapter, but I am no medical professional. I was a vet tech for two years, but that's very different than a human nurse or doctor, so, I apologize if anything was unrealistic in that aspect. Please feel free to ask if something wasn't clear. We will hear from Jim in the next chapter, and I would say we have like three chapters left until Arc 3, and Jim comes back into the picture with Spock. So, hold on! We're almost there! **

**The chapter title comes from the song, "Can You Feel My Heart" by Bring me the Horizon. It had heavy influence in the plot for this story, so go check it out if you are curious where my moods for these characters comes from! **

**Thanks for reading! And thanks for reviewing if you do! It's all so very much appreciated! **


	19. Oceans In Between Us

**A.N. Hey everyone! Firstly? The response from last chapter was flippin' amazing. Like, you guys rocked my world last week and I soared into this chapter with all of those comments floating around in my head. I want to thank you all again for leaving such awesome support. As promised, this chapter will contain a Jim POV, but it's not going to be too long. We won't see really detailed Jim chapters until arc 3 starts. This is merely my way of letting you know kind of what's going on the enterprise. **

**Now, there are a few technical things that I'm taking some liberties with, and if anyone doesn't understand them, feel free to ask. I just remind myself that this is the 23****rd**** century, and I'm sure Starfleet as their own version of homeland security regarding outgoing messages. **

**I want to give huge thankyou's to rubyhair and coccinelle for their insight in writing this chapter. I do introduce the roommate in this, and I do drop some clues with that guy. Chapter title comes from a lyric in the song, "Blurry" by Puddle of Mudd. The song, to me, describes Jim's feelings for Spock at this point in the arc perfectly. Go check it out. It's awesome and old school. **

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Oceans In Between Us**

Marcus had just sat himself down at the desk to wade through the pile of shit his secretary had the audacity to call 'paperwork' when said secretary buzzed him through the panel on his desk. It rang unnecessarily loud, which caused him to spill a bit of his morning coffee, which in turn irritated him. "What?" he bit out impatiently, because honestly, he'd like to take a sip of his coffee sometime today if that was goddamn possible, and not have it all over his desk.

"Admiral Marcus, Lt. Braisley is here to see you," the woman responded coolly, as if Marcus' tone hadn't fazed her at all. It probably hadn't. The bitch was cold as ice.

Marcus sighed, slammed his coffee down thereby spilling a good portion of it again, and then spoke into the panel. "Send him in, then."

Thirty seconds later, Marcus watched as Braisley stepped inside, nodded to him, and then sat himself down like he owned the place. That's one thing Marcus hated about keeping men around that knew too much. They got comfortable. They got cocky, and it was all because they thought they had cards to play if the shit got knee-deep.

Well, Braisley wasn't Spock, the son of the Vulcan Ambassador. He was a nobody Lieutenant who Marcus could make disappear with a snap of the fingers if he wanted to. So, he'd better watch it.

"Don't get comfortable. Whatever you've got to say, say it quick. I've got to get this paperwork done before the federation council meeting this afternoon. You know those prudes like punctuality," Marcus stated tiredly, because usually if Braisley was visiting him in person, it was something that had to do with something Marcus would rather not deal with at the moment.

Something that would end up being time consuming.

"Well, good morning to you to, Admiral," the man said cheekily, making Marcus glare at him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again, this time with slightly more menace.

"Your office soundproofed?"

Marcus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "It's always soundproofed. I'm no fool."

Braisley straightened up and leaned forward. "My source in New York said that our Vulcan paid a visit to the hospital last week."

Marcus started at that. "Why? And why am I just finding out about this?" he sputtered. He was seriously sick and fucking tired of finding out information about Spock so late in the goddamn game.

"He didn't go to the hospital for medical care, Admiral. He went there for his job. It seems that Mr. Spock has two jobs now. The one you made sure he got, and apparently the manager at the New York branch he got sent to set him up with a night position at some software company. That's why he was at the hospital; _Bellevue_ hospital to be exact. He was updating software," Braisley clarified.

Oh. False alarm then.

"Okay, and this is important because?" Marcus furthered, wondering where the punch line was, because if Braisley was here just to update him on Mr. Spock's shitty excuse of a life, then he really couldn't give a fuck or a shit.

"Well, according to my source, he got into some trouble there. Had some kind of health scare or something, and it caught the attention of one of the doctors. I have it on good authority that Mr. Spock refused treatment, and asked this doctor, a _Dr. Rinehart_, not to contact New Vulcan."

Marcus leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Well then, looks like Spock's done our work for us," he commented in satisfaction, and still wondered what point the man was coming to.

Braisley sighed. "That's what Mr. Spock _requested_, but we intercepted a subspace message going to New Vulcan two days ago. It originated from this Dr. Rinehart, and it was sent directly to a hospital on New Vulcan. Of course all messages not sent out by Starfleet are delayed for inspection, so we caught it. In the message, Dr. Rinehart is asking for medical advice regarding Mr. Spock, and he goes on to give a litany of symptoms the Vulcan is apparently exhibiting…" the man paused to glance down at his PADD, probably to look at those symptoms.

Marcus leaned forward again, his gaze intense. "Which are?" he prompted, irritated that Braisley hadn't memorized this shit before coming in here. Did the Academy not teach general preparedness anymore?

"Hypertension, malnourishment, exhaustion, low blood glucose levels, um…" Braisley listed off, his eyes never leaving the PADD.

Marcus snorted. "Those sound like symptoms I could find out on someone in the street in five minutes. Why is this doctor putting in a subspace call to New Vulcan for this?" he interrupted, because honestly he'd been expecting something like a disease or a physical trauma that required some kind of hospitalization. Not some high blood pressure and weight loss.

Braisley gave him a long look. "Admiral, high blood pressure isn't something common with Vulcans," the man said as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Spock isn't a full Vulcan. Why do people keep forgetting that?" Marcus said in exasperation, which made the other man purse his lips.

"Well, it's obviously enough to get this doctor to send messages to New Vulcan. My man took the liberty of halting it further after it passed inspection so that I could bring this to your attention. How do you want to proceed? Fabricate a pseudo response? Not bother with a response at all?" Braisley asked in a short tone, as if Marcus was bothering him. Which kind of pissed him off because Braisley was the one who'd come to him with this bullshit.

"That was good of your man to halt it. We can't have that getting to New Vulcan when everyone that matters thinks that halfbreed is off world. Get our people in communications to fabricate a pseudo response, and…" Marcus paused to consider something. "I want all communications leaving for New Vulcan from that doctor, or from that hospital, to go through a screening. Anything with the name 'Spock' needs to be halted and reviewed. I know they're doing that anyway, but I want extra attention paid to his case. Also, if Spock has a PADD or a communicator, I want it monitored. Nothing gets out to anyone that could sink us. Not until this all blows over."

"Sir, I don't know if we have that kind of manpower…" Braisley started to cut in uneasily.

"Then you make the manpower! If you have to go live in New York yourself, then you'll do it!" Marcus snapped, his eyes blazing. He was the Head of Starfleet for Christ's sake. How could he not have the manpower? Starfleet _was _the power!

"Admiral, request permission to speak candidly." Braisley's tone was gruff and generally not impressed. Like Marcus gave a shit.

However, the admiral raised an eyebrow and nodded. He kind of wanted to hear this anyway. "Permission granted."

"Wouldn't it just be easier to kill the Vulcan? I mean, you don't intend on using him in Starfleet anymore, so what's the point in going through all this trouble? I mean, especially given the risk if this gets out? You know this will devastate us if someone important realizes that Spock isn't where you're saying he is. Can we really trust that Spock will keep up this self-isolation? What happens if he tries and reaches out?" Braisley explained, and the look in the man's eyes was the look of someone who'd thought of this before.

Marcus steepled his fingers together and gave a long sigh. "That's why I'm putting more monitoring on him. If we can keep tabs on his PADD and communicator, and have someone watch him for at least two years, which would be the amount of time he would have spent on a ship, then we'll be fine. As time passes, people get forgotten about. That's what I expect to happen here. Eventually Captain Kirk will forget about him, and so will the other important figures in Starfleet. That's all I care about. Once the two years is up, I'm betting my entire career that we'll be at war with the Klingons, and that's where everyone will be focusing. That's where everyone _needs _to be focusing. Not on the Vulcan that was once an important figure in this fleet. That useless shit won't win us a war," he explained confidently. He really didn't want to kill the Vulcan if he could avoid it. Those things were messy, and not to mention risky.

Braisley, unfortunately, still didn't look convinced. "That's a fine idea, Admiral Marcus, but you know that if someone really wants to contact someone, they will. I just think there are too many loose ends to cover here. You're putting a lot of faith in this Vulcan staying put."

"With his current financial situation, he has to stay put," Marcus commented in amusement. He'd seen Spock's latest credit records. The Vulcan wasn't doing too hot at all, even with two jobs.

"Even with that, there are too many loose ends! For one thing, what about Captain Kirk? From what I've heard, those two were friends!" Braisley shouted in mass exasperation.

Marcus wouldn't be intimidated though.

"I can handle the Kirk kid. I've got my own eyes on that ship, and I just sent him a pseudo subspace address for Spock at the beginning of the week. I don't plan on him investing much more into the Vulcan after Kirk keeps sending messages to what he thinks is a science vessel out in the Gamma Quadrant, only to get short replies pretty much telling him to fuck off in a very Vulcan way," Marcus explained in slight annoyance. He hadn't wanted to do that, but he'd been backed into a corner, and forced to make a decision. Engineering a pseudo subspace address for a pseudo ship wasn't easy, nor was it cheap to maintain, but Kirk had been constantly harassing him about contacting Spock, and quite frankly, Marcus had been worried the captain might try and go around him to the Vulcan's father, which, would have been unfortunate.

"Okay, and what about this doctor? Or any of the people Spock's come in contact with? I just feel this is a big risk, Admiral, and it worries me."

"It's not your job to worry. It's your job to do as your told. I told you, give it two years, and no one will give a fuck about that Vulcan," Marcus paused at the look on Braisley's face. It was a look of defiance. The man still wasn't content. "Listen, Lt. Braisley. If Spock ends up being more trouble than expected, I'll consider your idea. If the risk ends up being something we can't control, then we'll take him out. I can't afford what happened on Altriri IV to come to light. The PR on that would ruin us. But until then, I want his shit monitored, and that includes the people he comes into contact with. The vessel he's slated to be on comes back to Earth in a year and some odd months. I promise that if shit looks like it's going to hit the fan before then, we'll end it. But if I can avoid getting unnecessary attention from the Vulcan ambassador, or from anyone prominent in Starfleet…I will. Is that understood?" Marcus finished in as stern a voice as he could muster.

Braisley pursed his lips again, and nodded tightly. "Understood, Admiral."

Marcus sat back and waved his hand dismissively. "Good. Now, I've got things to get done here. Was there anything else?" he asked while picking up a PADD. He knew Braisley still wasn't in agreement, but he was done discussing it.

"No, Sir. That was it. I'll get Evingston to get extra monitoring on him, and we'll make sure that nothing gets out to New Vulcan," Braisley answered and stood.

He had barely made it to the door when Marcus halted him. "One more thing, I want Spock's medical file altered. Whoever the current emergency contact is for him? Change it," Marcus ordered, his eyes not looking up from his stack of PADDs. He should have done that from the very beginning, but just hasn't thought about it. Such a mistake could've cost them the entire show.

"To who, Admiral?" Braisley stated tiredly, as if he'd already heard enough orders from Marcus for the day.

"To you."

**((oOo))**

**U.S.S. Enterprise**

**Three Weeks Later:**

Kirk had been in the ship's gym, punching the shit out of any punch-safe object he could lay his hands on whilst imagining a certain someone's face when Bones walked in. The older doctor was practically breaking his neck to peer around the gymnasium, looking for his target.

Kirk knew who that target was, but there was no hiding now.

When Bones locked eyes with him and practically power walked his way over. Kirk rolled his own eyes, quickly looked away, and thrust another fist toward the punching bag in front of him. "What can I—," he started just before his fist impacted the bag, causing him to exhale largely. "Do for you, Bones?" Kirk finished in what wasn't a cocky tone just as the man came to an aggravated halt next to the object of his frustrations.

"You can _explain _to me why I had to hear second hand about a fight that supposedly took place on the bridge this morning. That's what you can _do_ for me," Bones bit out loudly, and placed his hands on his hips.

Around them, a few officers spared the pair wary glances, but that was it. Given the air of irritation Kirk had walked into the gym with about an hour ago, most people had stayed pretty clear of him. Which had been a good thing. He had needed his space. Still needed it, actually.

"Fight? What fight?" Kirk answered innocently and landed another hard punch on the bag. His knuckles were screaming at him to stop, but he pushed through. He had so much pent up anger and frustration inside of him. If it didn't go somewhere, Kirk couldn't make any promises that it wouldn't end up on someone's face.

Bones snorted, and this time, came to stand in front of the bag, his eyes dangerously narrow. "Don't play stupid, kid. I heard through the grapevine—which seems to be the only way I hear important shit on this ship—that you and Mitchell had it out this morning, and in a pretty big way."

"Move out of my way, Bones. I'm working out here," Kirk said, promptly ignoring the accusation thrown his way, but the doctor stayed rooted to the spot.

"No, Jim. This is like the tenth goddamned time in the past three months that I've heard about a fight breaking out between you and your First Officer," Bones deadpanned.

Kirk sighed loudly, turned around and set off toward the showers. Obviously, his workout was over.

Bones fell into step beside him. "So? Wanna tell me what's going on?" he continued to prod.

"First of all, Bones, we're not _fighting._ If I was fighting with that bastard, you would see evidence of it on his face. It's called _disagreeing_," Kirk clarified bitterly.

Bones laughed humorously. "Disagreeing?" he started in disbelief. "Spare me, kid. You and Spock disagreed, and that was nothing like this. Save that shit for someone who would swallow it, because I don't."

Kirk felt a pang in his chest at the mention of Spock, but quickly pushed it down. That was the last person he wanted to think about right now. "Look," the captain started and came to stop just a few feet away from the showers. "I'm not starting them. Gary is every time he opens his mouth. If he's not challenging my every order in a condescending way, he's reprimanding my crew for stuff that's not even worth a reprimand. I can't _work _with someone like that! And neither can my crew!" he finished in quiet exasperation so that the crewmen close to them wouldn't overhear.

"Jim. Spock did the same thing, didn't he? I don't see how this is different," Bones argued, and again, Kirk felt that pang in his chest he got whenever he thought about Spock; but also a sliver of defensiveness toward the Vulcan. Spock and Gary Mitchell were _very _different in the way they carried themselves as First Officer. Hell, they were night and day as _people_ as well. And while Kirk still might be pissed off at Spock, he wasn't going to let Bones compare the two of them. The very thought of it made him want to gag.

"No, Bones. Spock _did not _do the same things. Yeah, he would challenge decisions I'd make sometimes, but he'd do it in private. Not in front of the entire bridge so that my crew thinks their senior command team is incompetent and incapable of working together," Kirk stated sternly while nodding to a passing red shirt with damp hair.

Bones scoffed at that and opened his mouth to argue, no doubt remembering Kirk and Spock's last two weeks together on the Enterprise before the Vulcan had resigned. The rumors that had been going around at that time, and more so afterward, had definitely been wild.

However, before the doctor could get a word in edge-wise, Kirk continued. "The same goes for whenever he'd reprimand someone. Spock would do it in _private_, Bones. And he wasn't a dick about it. And no, being a Vulcan doesn't mean everything you say makes you a dick. That's just the way he talked. Gary has no excuse." Kirk clarified at the look on Bones' face. "Add to that the fact that Spock _always _came to me first if he was going to officially reprimand someone. Always." he finally ended and resumed his walk toward the showers. Fortunately, the men's shower room was pretty scarce save for one person, and the captain wasted no time in shedding his clothes and jumping into the shower. It would save time to use sonics, but honestly, Kirk felt like a cold shower today. The workout had been brutal, and his body was covered in sweat.

Bones stood off to the side and ran a hand through his hair. Meanwhile, Kirk started washing off the layer of sweat that had built up on him. The cold streams of water felt like heaven on his overheated skin, and already he felt his anger starting to abate.

The sigh from Bones brought it back again though. "Yeah, but you told me last week that you'd had a talk with Mitchell about all this, Jim. I thought it had been settled. Chapin told me she thought you two were going to go to blows this morning," his friend started before stepping closer to the shower so that the man lingering by the lockers wouldn't hear him. "That's unlike you Jim. Sure you're a six foot child sometimes, but even when you and Spock were at your worst, it never almost came to blows. What's going on?"

"Why do you care, Bones? In fact, what does this have to do with you anyway?" Kirk bit harshly while massaging shampoo into his hair. The silence that lingered made the captain feel bad about his hateful tone, and he was secretly glad that his eyes were closed so he wouldn't have to see his friend's face.

"What does it have to do with me?" Bones asked in disbelief.

_Ah, fucking hell, _Kirk inwardly groaned at the oncoming tantrum.

"How about this? As your friend, I wish you'd just talk to me about what's been bothering you, and _especially _what's been bothering you the past few weeks, instead of taking out your anger on the bridge with your First Officer in front of everyone and their goddamned dog! Because quite frankly? I'm sick and tired of walking on eggshells around you, and I'm really sick and fucking tired of looking at the morale and efficiency reports that come to my desk only to see they keep dropping. I thought you'd accepted the fact that Spock's gone—,"

Kirk had to stop him right there, and despite the fact that shampoo would get in his eyes, his eyes snapped open and fixated on the doctor. "You…you think I'm taking out my anger on Gary because of _Spock?_ Fucking seriously?" he asked in shocked disbelief, and then winced when the shampoo did indeed start burning him. "_Fuck,_" Kirk exclaimed and hurried to rinse his eyes out.

"What else am I to believe, Jim? From what I've heard, Gary's been spreading a rumor that you're just being a dick to him because he's _not_ Spock. Is that true?"

Kirk, whose eyes were now red with irritation, sputtered in disbelief. "True? Of course that's not true! I wouldn't do that, Bones, and if he's going around telling people that, then as soon as I get dressed, I'm gonna find that sorry mother fuc—," the captain started heatedly, and stepped out of the shower with every intention of hunting down the man who claimed to be his First fucking Officer, and asking, 'what the fuck?' in as captainly as humanly possible. If Bones was right and the morale and efficiency reports really were declining, then Gary walking around tossing rumors up into the air definitely wasn't helping bring them back up.

"No, you're not, Jim. You're going to park your naked ass on that bench right there, and you're going to talk to me," Bones cut him off in the most fatherly tone of voice Kirk had ever heard him use, went over to the entrance of the shower room, signaled the doors closed and locked them, and then came to stand back in front of him, his gaze unwavering. Fortunately, the other man had cleared out by now, leaving just him and Bones.

Kirk thought about arguing. He thought about telling Bones to move aside or he'd make it an order, but the mere thought of it just made him tired. He'd been at odds with everyone lately. Not just Gary, and given what he'd just found out about the morale and efficiency reports, perhaps it wasn't the worst idea to bare his soul a bit. "Fine, Bones. But…I'm putting my clothes on. We're _not_ going to have this conversation with my balls hanging out," he deadpanned, and watched the small bout of relief flit over his friend's face.

"Okay, yeah…that's probably a good idea. I'd rather your balls not be hanging out either," Bones agreed and handed Kirk a towel.

Once he'd dried himself off and donned a clean uniform, he signaled to the door. "Can we take this back to my quarters? I'd rather not monopolize the shower for this 'come to Jesus' meeting you're forcing me to have, and I've got some reports I need to finish anyway," Kirk said sarcastically.

Bones rolled his eyes but nodded. "Fine, but be quick about it. I've got to be back in sickbay in half an hour."

_Let's hope this doesn't take that long,_ Kirk couldn't help but think as they both wandered back out into the gym, and toward the captain's quarters.

"So. What's been on your mind, kid? What happened this morning?" Bones asked in a strangely sincere voice as they both came inside Kirk's room. The doctor then eyed said room distastefully. "Sheesh, Jim. Do you even _use _a yeoman," he asked in disgust and kicked at a pile of clothes on the floor.

Kirk stepped over them as if they weren't there, and all but fell into the chair behind his desk. Why did he feel like most of the deep conversations he had happened behind his desk? "As a matter of fact, I do. But…Rand told me she won't step foot back in here until I start properly disposing of my clothes or some shit," he answered nonchalantly. Of course, Kirk knew that he could order her to do it anyway, but he wasn't going to be _that _dick. Honestly, he wouldn't want to pick up people's clothes because they were too lazy to put them in the laundry chute either. "Why? You don't like this new look? I think it suits me," Kirk added playfully. Perhaps the longer he stalled the doctor, the less time they would have to talk about _feelings_.

Bones narrowed his eyes and took the seat across from him. "Now I know you're just stalling me."

_Damn, have I gotten that easy to read? _Kirk thought morosely, sighed, and leaned forward in the chair. It looked like they were going to have this conversation anyway. "Okay, to answer your first question? I lost my shit with Mitchell because of something he told Lt. Hasling this morning on the bridge," Kirk spat bitterly. Just thinking about the entire exchange made his cheeks red.

Bones raised a curious eyebrow. "Lt. Hasling from Science?"

Kirk nodded. "Yeah, I promoted her to Chief Science Officer last week after Lt. Roberts told me he really wasn't up to the position. She's always been a bit quiet, but I chose her because I remember Spock going on about her from time to time when he used to tell me about the ongoing experiments down in the labs. He told me she showed quite a bit of promise, so I gave her a chance."

"Sounds like something you'd do. Anyway, what's this got to do with Mitchell?" Bones asked gruffly, making Kirk glare at him.

"It has _to do _with him because while everyone was going about their business normally and quietly, which seems to always irritate Mitchell for some strange fucking reason—I swear the guy just loves drama—,"

"Jim. The point," Bones interrupted his rambling.

"Yeah, yeah, Bones. I'm getting there. Anyway, Mitchell decided to go up to her and mention how, '_it must be nice not to have to take orders from a slave-driving Vulcan anymore'." _

Instantly Bones groaned, as if he knew exactly how such a thing would set Kirk off.

"He thought I couldn't hear him, but I did, and I told him I didn't appreciate him talking about Spock like that," he paused in consideration. "Or, I said that it was inappropriate to talk about the former commander in such a way," Kirk explained disdainfully. Just thinking about it made him want to get up, go find Mitchell, and punch him in the face. The way he'd said it was so…_xenophobic_, and it bothered him that there was someone on his ship like that.

"Yeah, I bet you phrased it just like that," Bones commented sourly.

"I actually did, Bones!" Kirk shouted and came to sit straighter in his chair. "I was very calm about it, but when he told me that I was overreacting, and to not take things so literally, I got mad. I got mad, okay? And yeah, I might have said some things that a Captain shouldn't say, but I'm not going to let someone get away with saying that shit on my bridge. And I bet everyone up there agrees with me," he finished confidently and collapsed back against his chair as if he had no further points to prove.

Kirk knew for a fact that Hasling and Uhura both agreed with him. They'd said as much on the bridge.

"It doesn't matter if everyone agrees with you, Jim! You're the Captain! You can't just start swearing your way around the bridge every time you get mad! You have to set an example up there! Have you never heard the saying, _'attitude reflects leadership'?_" Bones started in a menacing tone, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. "Or, did it ever even occur to you that Mitchell might just be acting like this to get a rise out of you? Because he knows you'll take the bait? You said you don't trust Mitchell, so what if this is just a way for him to get under your skin so that he can report back to command that you're emotionally unstable? Is that what you want?" Bones finished in a shout from his chair, his hands gripped tightly around the arms of it.

Kirk stilled at that. "You think…you think Mitchell is trying to get me demoted?" he asked in barely above a whisper. True, he would never trust the guy to really have his back, not like Spock always had, but he'd never paused to think his new First Officer was trying to get him thrown out of the chair. But now that he'd said it aloud, was it really that fantastical? Was Mitchell not going against him every chance he got? Was he not talking bad about him behind his back? Spock had never done those things. And when he and Spock had disagreed, the Vulcan always had a good reason (even if Kirk didn't see it as a good reason at the time).

Bones took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. "Honestly, Jim? I really don't know. There's something about that guy that I don't like. He seemed to come along pretty damn conveniently if you ask me. But if there _is_ any truth to that, then you should be killing this guy with kindness, not reaming his ass with threats and swear words."

Kirk looked down at his desk with a frown and wondered if there was any truth to such a thing. If he were being honest, he wouldn't put it past Admiral Marcus to send eyes aboard the Enterprise. It sounded like something the guy would do. "You know, you're right, Bones," he muttered and peered back up at his friend, because he _was_ right. If Mitchell was acting as a pair of eyes and ears—and in this case, _hands—_for Marcus, then all Kirk had managed to do over the past three months since he came onboard was put on a grand show for the guy to take back to Command. What a fucking idiot.

Bones blinked at him. "Say that again, and this time, let me record it."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "No seriously, you're right. If that is the case, then I want to make it as hard as possible for him to find things to complain about. I know I'm still not a hole in one with the Admiralty, but like hell if I'm going to sit back and let them rape me up the ass because I can't keep my shit together. If that _is _what Mitchell is doing, then I'm going to make it really fucking hard for him to do it."

Bones nodded appreciatively. "Good. I'm glad I'm able to talk sense into you at least _some _of the time. Now, I know that's not all that's been bothering you. Mitchell's been this way for three months. So what's your excuse for the past three weeks?"

Kirk quickly looked down at a PADD. He'd really been hoping to spare _this _particular part of the conversation. "Mitchell's been my problem, Bones. There. We've already talked about that and decided on a resolution, so I don't see—,"

"_Jim. _I know Mitchell hasn't been the only thing on your mind. Now come on, I'm your friend. Talk to me."

Kirk gave him a sheepish smile. "Are you saying that as my friend? Or as a would-be therapist."

"Are you still bothered about Spock leaving?" Bones came right out with it, and for a moment, Kirk didn't know how to respond. He wasn't expecting the doctor to be so blunt.

"Uh…" Kirk started stupidly while searching his brain for something to say that wouldn't involve Spock. It wasn't so much the leaving part that had been bothering him these past three weeks. It was something else, but it _did _have to do with Spock, and Kirk hated that. He hated how easily he succumbed to his emotions where they surrounded the Vulcan.

"Uh-huh. I thought so. Listen, Jim. I know you told me that you loved Spock, but you've got to start thinking of ways to move past that. He left this ship almost four months ago, and I can't see that you're making any improvement where he's concerned."

"Okay, so I'd really rather not have this conversation, Bones. Thanks but no thanks," Kirk attempted to redirect him. Ever since he'd told Bones about his feelings for Spock, he hadn't said the word _love _again. It hurt too damn much. Hell, he never even _mentally_ thought the word anymore, and especially when it came to Spock.

"Well we're having it, Jim! This? What you're doing to yourself?" Bones paused and gesticulated around the messy room with his hands. "It's not healthy! I told you I looked at those efficiency reports, and you think your crew is the only decreasing number on there? Your efficiency has decreased to! And not only that, but according to your exam fifteen days ago, you've managed to lose five pounds! FIVE pounds Jim! Honestly I thought you were always going to be one I had to watch the weight on! You're diet card has been recording basically shit nowadays, which explains just where the fuck those five pounds disappeared to, and you compulsively work out—,"

"I've _always_ worked out, Bones. That's nothing new," Kirk hastened to clarify in a bitter tone.

Bones snorted. "Not like you have lately, Jim, and it's kind of depressing that out of the shit I've just listed, that's the only thing you can argue with me about."

Kirk blushed at that.

"You haven't gone on the last two shore leaves we had, and I don't want to even _think _about how much sleep you get, and here in the past three weeks? You've been on the edge, and everyone has noticed it!" Bones finished and stood up, his hands planted firmly on the desk for emphasis. "Now I _know_ that Mitchell is not the entire cause for this. These feelings you have for Spock? You need to get rid of them. You need to—,"

Instantly Kirk got angry and stood up from his own chair. "Get rid of them?" he started wildly. "Just what the fuck do you think I've been trying to do, Bones? Trust me, if I could un-love my former First Officer, I fucking would! You think I like feeling like this? You think it gives me a rush or something? I _hate_ feeling like this! I keep telling myself to forget him, but then I'll wonder a minute later just what he's doing at the moment? Or who he's talking to? Or sometimes, when I'm down on a planet I wonder if somewhere out there Spock is maybe on some other planet doing his science thing like he used to do here? And if he is, are the people he's with now watching his back? And if they aren't, does that mean he's hurt or about to be hurt? And then when I think about that, I think about how helpless I am because I can't do a damn thing about it! And then I hate myself even more and feel even more fucking helpless for feeling this shit in the first place!" Kirk was yelling now, and his voice was vibrating through the room. "So please, fucking _explain_ to me what I need to do here, Bones! To _get rid _of these feelings!" he finally ended breathlessly, and oddly enough, felt slightly better.

These feelings had been tearing him up inside for the past four months since Spock had left, and made all the worse in the past three weeks because of the fucking subspace messages he _hadn't _gotten. It was surprising that aside from practically screaming at his best friend…he felt better for having done it. Perhaps he'd feel even better if he just came out and admitted to Bones what had really been bothering the past three weeks.

For a moment, Bones didn't say anything, but his expression had softened considerably the entire time Kirk had been ranting. "It's not so much _'getting rid'_ of them, kid. But, you sort through them. You talk about them until you start to feel lighter inside. You do what you just did, Jim," the man finally responded before looking thoughtful. "And I bet you feel better now, don't you," he declared just as Kirk fell back down into his chair. He felt tired now, but figured he'd just put all his cards out there.

"I got Marcus to finally give me the contact information to the ship Spock is on," Kirk blurted out.

"I told you you'd feel bet…wait, what?" Bones said in confusion. It was obvious he hadn't expected that answer. Well, Kirk hadn't really been expecting to give it.

"Remember how I told you that Marcus wouldn't give me the ship's contact information because it belongs to a private company? Well, let's just say I've been pestering the son of a bitch nonstop about it, and he finally gave me a subspace address to contact. He said he couldn't give me the ship's name without getting into legal trouble, so he gave me Spock's direct information instead so that I could send him a message and bypass the ship so he wouldn't get into trouble," Kirk went on to explain in a morose tone.

"And…is there a reason you didn't tell me about this? I told you'd that if you could contact that ship, that I wanted to know so I could talk with one of their doctors," Bones stated accusingly, a frown on his face.

Kirk sighed. "Did you not just hear me? I said that Marcus gave me Spock's direct subspace address, which means that the ship obviously isn't supposed to know about it or he could get into trouble."

"Oh," Bones muttered before saying, "this happened three weeks ago?"

"Yeah, it did, and I sent Spock a message…" Kirk let his voice trail off awkwardly and stared at his fingers. Truth be told, he'd sent Spock several messages over the course of the past three weeks.

"Well? And? What did you say?" Bones furthered impatiently.

Kirk sighed and took a sizable breath. His fingers suddenly got a lot more interesting. "First I asked him to contact me. But then I thought of how dickish that probably sounded considering the last thing I said to him, so I sent him another one. I…told him that I was sorry, and that I didn't mean what I'd said, and that I did care about him, but that it was okay if he didn't feel the same. That despite our feelings toward one another, I wanted him to come back, and that if he did, I wouldn't pester him anymore. He could go back to doing his job the way he wanted to, and I would respect his wishes. Whatever choice he wanted to make, I would stand by it. I told him that he was the best First Officer a Captain could ask for, and that the Enterprise just didn't run the same without him," Kirk finished, and this time, looked up at his friend. His eyes hurt, but he dared not cry. He was grown fucking man. Men didn't cry. He _wouldn't _cry over Spock.

Bones' expression suddenly turned into one of understanding. "Let me guess, he didn't…"

"He didn't even respond, Bones. He's fucking ignored every single message I sent him. You wanted to know what's been up my ass these past three weeks? Well, that's it. That's been up my ass and festering inside me like a goddamn disease," Kirk stated bitterly, and threw a PADD across the room. It shattered upon impact, but Bones didn't even spare it a glance. He kept his eyes trained on Kirk.

Kirk had to admit, he was grateful for that.

"I mean, Spock has to really hate me to not even respond to a single one of those messages, Bones," Kirk admitted in a slightly heated tone. Just thinking about it was making him more angry than sad. Spock could have at least sent him a message saying, '_please do not contact me again' _but he couldn't even manage that much common decency. And why? Because Kirk obviously wasn't even worth that much. And should he be? After the way he'd treated Spock?

"Maybe they're not getting through to him," Bones suggested in a hopeful tone, making Kirk glare at him before getting out of his chair and straightening his uniform up.

"They're saying they've been received, and even opened, Bones. So…they're going somewhere," the captain clarified.

"Well maybe…" the doctor started again, but Kirk was already walking around him and toward the door. Perhaps he could go down to engineering and have a drink with Scotty. He didn't have another shift until morning, and honestly, the last thing he wanted to look at was reports.

"It doesn't matter. I'm over it. He doesn't want to talk to me, that's fine. At least I said what I needed to say. The ball's in his court," Kirk added in monotone before pausing at the door. Bones, oddly enough, was still seated. "You coming? I thought you had a shift starting in sickbay."

Bones slowly stood, which again, was strange. "Yeah, I'm coming. Hey Jim?" he asked as he met Kirk at the door and they both waded out into the hallway.

"Yeah," Kirk answered shortly, his hands in his pockets.

"I'm glad you talked to me. Don't ever hesitate to come talk to me. Especially about Spock."

Kirk paused and studied his friend. He wasn't used to this much understanding from Bones. Or, perhaps Bones had always been understanding, and Kirk just hadn't taken the time to notice it amongst his own personal angst-fest. Either way, it was enough to take him by surprise. "Yeah, Bones. I will. Thanks for listening," he told him in a strange voice.

"Anytime, kid. Anytime."

**((oOo))**

**Earth**

**NY City**

There was one aspect of Spock's position at Barton and Co. Repairs that he absolutely detested; and that was whenever he was required to stay late in order to determine the number of stock; or put more simply, to _take_ inventory.

Once a month, and usually on a Saturday night, Spock, Harold, and Wesley stayed past the closing time of four o'clock to count and record every single product in the building. Unfortunately, that also included the merchandise in the varying storage rooms littered throughout said building, and not just what was available up at the front.

Spock understood why such a thing was done, and he could not fault the logic of it. He knew that retailers utilized the method of inventory management to acquire and maintain a proper merchandise assortment while ordering, shipping, handling, and keeping related costs in check. Spock knew that by completing such a task once a month, Wesley would then be able to project which products he would need to increase the stock of, and which products did not sell very well, which would therefore lead to a decrease of ordering for that product. Spock understood this, but loathed it all the same.

The standard procedure for these _inventory _nights was simple; Wesley would oversee them and submit their checklists to corporate after he analyzed them for approval, and Spock and Harold would set to completing the checklists by order of the section of merchandise they were assigned to. It was not a surprise to the Vulcan that Harold was usually given the bulkier products like holoplayers, replicators, large area heaters, food containment products, and all the other equipment that required two hands to hold. In contrast, for the past three months, Spock had been given the smaller products on the checklist. Items such as communicators, PADDs, chargers, and adapters; items that were far more numerous and therefore much more tedious to count.

Harold never received that checklist. Spock always had. Every single time.

Given that fact, having that specific checklist always meant Spock would be here longer than Harold because the number of smaller items far outnumbered the larger items, and tonight he just hadn't wanted to be there very long at all. The allotment of duties during inventory was one large reason why the Vulcan disliked doing it.

However, despite that dislike, Spock usually made no complaints about said allotment. But tonight had been different. Tonight, when Wesley had divided the checklists between him and Harold, Spock had dared to make the comment about how this would be the third time he had received the checklist for the smaller merchandise, and would it be possible to obtain the larger checklist instead?

Spock had hated to mention anything at all, but the prospect of staying longer with the severity of the migraine he was sporting just hadn't been a pleasant thought. Ever since the medical revelation at the hospital one month ago, Spock had tried to be extra diligent in subduing his migraines so that his blood pressure would not spike.

Needless to say, the Vulcan hadn't been very successful in that endeavor, and instances like being given a heavier workload did not make that endeavor easier. He felt that he owed it to himself to at least attempt to get the other checklist.

"Can't we get through one fucking shift without you bitching about something?"Harold had chastised him the minute Spock had said something. The Vulcan had turned to respond, to reassure everyone that he really didn't want to complain, but Wesley had cut him off.

"Harold, start on your checklist. I don't want you here past nine again because you're taking your sweet time. Get to it,"Wesley had told him firmly before looking back to Spock, who had resisted the urge to physically deflate upon seeing Harold smirk at him, and walk off to the other side of the store with the checklist _he _had been trying to acquire.

When Wesley had caught his eye, he motioned the Vulcan over and said discreetly under his breath; "I give you that checklist every month because I think you move through it a hell of a lot quicker than Harold. If I gave that checklist to him, I'd be here till ten o'clock. Take it as a compliment, Spock. It means I think you do a better job than him."

Spock's hands had tightened over the PADD with the _checklist _pulled up on it, and his lips had pursed with barely concealed irritation. He had been paid this _compliment _more times than he'd wanted to count, and quite frankly, Spock had grown tired of hearing it. However, when he opened his mouth to reply, instead of arguing the matter further, he had stated impassively, "your confidence in my abilities is appreciated, Mr. Crawford. I apologize for inconveniencing you with what Mr. Harold has termed 'my complaint'."

A wave of satisfaction came from Wesley, and a moment later the human had smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder. "It's fine, Spock, don't worry about it," he reassured him and then walked back toward his office. "When you guys finish, bring those PADDs to me and you can leave. Remember that tomorrow is Sunday! We get to sleep in!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Harold had grumbled from behind the front desk where he was syncing his personal PADD up to the building's main sound system.

The loud, rambunctious noise that had then filtered through the speakers and out into the room was the _second_ reason Spock detested taking inventory.

Harold's personal preference as it pertained to music.

It was always the same genre of music (if one could call it that) that Spock had heard on his first day at Barton, and the volume had always been set exceedingly high. The Vulcan had complained to Wesley about that as well the very first time they had done inventory together, and the human had turned that atrocious music on. But his manager's response had been less than satisfactory. "Look, we're not open, and if Harold gets his music, then he won't bitch and moan the entire time. You're a Vulcan. Can't you, I dunno, tune it out? He's been playing his music during inventory for the past five years. I can't really tell him it's not okay now…"

Spock had wanted to tell him that he couldn't tune it out. That the music hurt his head, and his sensitive ears, and that it put him on edge and made it unbearably difficult to concentrate. That's what he had wanted to say to Wesley.

Except that he hadn't. Spock knew when something was a lost cause, and to argue the matter further would have just irritated Wesley. So, after that day, Spock had never brought it up again.

Now though, two hours later and a third of the way through the checklist, Spock had almost had all he could stand of Harold's music. His head pounded with every strum of what was supposed to be a guitar, but sounded like something out of the Enterprise's Engineering deck, and he cursed his ability to hear anything at all.

When the lead singer of the musical group started screaming through the sound system for what had to be the hundredth time, the Vulcan slammed his PADD down on the shelf he was counting from in the back storage room, got up off of the floor where he had been kneeling, and all but stormed to the front of the store where he had no doubt that Harold still was given the speed with which the human often exhibited.

"Mr. Harold," Spock said loudly when he entered the front room.

Harold, as he had already predicted, was busy counting a string of replicators and mouthing the singer's words while his head violently bobbed up and down. He was completely oblivious to everything around him. That much was clear.

"Mr. Harold!" Spock yelled this time, and instantly regretted it. Speaking loudly caused unpleasant vibrations to cascade through his skull, which only made his pain increase.

Fortunately, Harold heard him this time. "Fuck me—_what?_" he shouted, and didn't bother to turn the music down. The sheer annoyance the human was now exhibiting was louder than any music though.

"I respectfully request that you decrease the volume of your musical selection," Spock stated and took a step closer. He really didn't want to shout again.

"Can't hear ya!" Harold yelled over the music.

Spock felt his face flush. "I would ask that you lower the volume of your—," he started again in a louder voice, but Harold cut him off.

"Wait! This is my favorite fucking part, man!" the human shouted gleefully, his exuberance outshining his annoyance, and then a moment later, he opened his mouth and let out a shrill scream that matched perfectly with the lead singer. Meanwhile, his arms folded up toward him and he began playing on what appeared to be an imaginary instrument while his head violently shook in sync with the harsh melody.

It was at that moment, as Spock stared blankly at the scene before him, that he wondered just why he had wasted the energy to come up to the front in the first place. His head now hurt all the more worse for it, and he had accomplished absolutely nothing. For a period of four seconds, the Vulcan indulged the fantasy of marching up to the music system that Harold's personal PADD was linked to, picking it up, and throwing it on the floor thereby putting a permanent end to what Harold referred to as a musical composition. How could he have spent years at the Academy, _taught_ at that Academy, and spend another year on the flagship of Starfleet, only to find himself standing at the front of an electronic store in Manhattan, New York; a store where he worked, and watching this human (his coworker) appear as if he had been possessed by a malevolent katra?

However, asking himself that question had been unwise, because when Spock recalled those events, Harold's transgressions suddenly seemed small and insignificant in the face of what Spock was ultimately capable of. He had instigated and performed acts far more severe and depraved than what Harold was currently exhibiting. He had carried out things that held far more potential for harm than the harm a human's loud music could bestow. How could Spock berate and judge the man in front of him when he'd done far worse?

Honestly, he couldn't. He had no right to. Wesley had already approved of Harold's music as it were, and therefore, what Spock wished for was not relevant. Anything said against it would only result in further accusations of complaining and cause the disharmony between himself and his coworker to increase all the more.

Decision made, Spock silently turned and walked out of the front room and back to the storage room he'd been taking inventory in. The faster he worked, the faster he could leave. He'd barely walked back into the room though when Wesley's voice came loudly from right behind him.

"Harold didn't want to turn his music down?"

Spock stiffened and turned back around. "Negative. Hence why the volume has remained unchanged," the Vulcan stated bitterly, and was immediately ashamed when Wesley winced at his inflection. However, it was hard not to be a bit bitter when Wesley had the power to turn the music completely off, and he refused to do so. His manager had a quiet office with the capability of being soundproofed to retreat to. Spock did not.

"Yeah…" Wesley started awkwardly and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Like I said, I'm really sorry he insists on playing it that loud. But, you really don't want to listen to him complain the entire time during inventory. It's worse than the music."

_I doubt that_, Spock thought before replying. "So it would seem." He then looked toward the shelves he had been preoccupied with before journeying to the front of the store to confront Harold about the music; a silent indicator that he wished to return to his work.

Wesley followed his line of vision. "Uh, well I guess I'll let you finish up here," he phrased awkwardly.

Spock nodded to him, ignored the pain in his temple that the motion elicited, and proceeded to turn away. He hadn't gotten very far in that endeavor before he was halted yet again.

"Oh wait!" Wesley added desperately, making the Vulcan almost begrudgingly turn back to face the human that was currently pulling an object out of his pocket. It was a small titanium box with a label on it that Spock could not make out. The Vulcan's eyebrow rose out of curiosity, though the elevation was hidden underneath his long bangs. "I nearly forgot the whole reason I came out here!" Wesley finished eagerly, and he _was_ eager. That much Spock could feel from him. He fingered the box for a moment, which was about half the size of his hand, before he handed it over to Spock.

Spock blinked once before carefully accepting it. He would rather avoid touching Wesley if he could. "May I inquire as to what this is?" he asked once his own fingers had circled around it, and he brought it up to discern what the label said.

Wesley smiled much like a child would at his question. Spock did not, but the man went on anyway. By now, Spock's manager had grown accustomed to his Vulcan mannerisms, and promptly carried on as he would with any human being. Spock had to admit he was somewhat grateful for that. It was…nice to feel as if he belonged somewhere; even if such a feeling only ever lasted a few moments.

"Those are the new _resonancePro_ series headphones from _Soundwave_! Got a shipment of them in last week! They're not on the floor yet, but I'm making an exception," Wesley answered exuberantly, as if this was the greatest news to ever grace the city of New York.

Spock frowned and wondered what he was supposed to do with the box. Was Wesley handing it to him to include in his inventory count? Barton and Co. did carry _Soundwave_ products, after all, so such a conclusion was not unfeasible. In fact, they were among the more expensive merchandise that the store sold. However, Spock was certain that if the product had not been entered into the store's system yet, he would not have to include it in the May Inventory list. He was certain that it would be recorded at the end of June's instead. But, he had been wrong about information before.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Open it!" Wesley encouraged impatiently at Spock's utter inaction regarding the titanium box.

"As you wish," Spock answered stoically, and brought the box up. While he opened it, he couldn't help but attribute the higher purchase price to the material that the box was fashioned out of. Encasing an item in titanium merely for the sole purpose of selling it was quite illogical. It was not cost effective, nor was it economic. But the Vulcan kept his opinion to himself as the box came open. Inside it were two transparent ear buds with the tiny initials _R.P _etched onto their sides in silver lettering.

The excitement surfacing from Wesley's emotions brought the Vulcan's gaze back up, and it was honestly confusing to him. Why was his manager excited?

"Given the brand name, the packaging, and the material that the small speakers appear to be made from, I deduce that this product will be relatively expensive," Spock announced blandly, yet audibly, because honestly, he didn't know what else to say that didn't involve asking the human right out if he was going to have to count an entire shipment's worth of these before he would be permitted to leave. It was unlike Spock, but perhaps if he failed to inquire, Wesley would forget to ask him, and therefore he would not obligated to count them. A Vulcan would not have done such an underhanded thing.

Therefore, it worked in his favor that Spock had long stopped referring to himself as such.

The human whistled loudly at his observation. "Uh yeah, that pair alone is going to cost two hundred credits once I put them on the shelves. Not only do they block out sound entirely aside from the music, but they come with free subscriptions to the local music stations because of the name, and…let's face it. Sound quality don't get better than with _Soundwave_," Wesley stated as if no other brand out there could compare. Suddenly the reason for the human's excitement was very clear. He intended to make a lot of credits from this product, and he was exhibiting his satisfaction at such a prospect.

"Indeed," Spock answered, closed the box, and attempted to hand it back to Wesley.

Wesley however, pushed the box back toward him with a slight frown. Spock was careful not to allow the human's fingers to touch him. "No, you don't understand," his manager stated humorously, but also with a hint of indifference.

Spock clutched the box tighter, and felt stupid for having tried to give it back in the first place. Apparently, he _would _be expected to count the shipment tonight. "Forgive me. I was not aware you wished for me to include this in the May Inventory," the Vulcan answered, and how he wished to permit himself just a small expression of disdain.

Wesley gaped at him, and then let out a hearty laugh. Spock stiffened. Why was he being laughed at? He honestly hated when he could not discern an individual's meaning, or their reaction. Even with the added emotional input, Spock was still not smart enough to communicate adequately with his mother's species. It was the epitome of pathetic.

"No! You're not including these in May's Inventory! I haven't even put them in our system yet!"

"Then I do not understa—,"

"I brought these out here for you, Spock! You know, as a gift?" Wesley cut him off pointedly, and in slight disbelief that Spock hadn't managed to catch on yet.

Spock blinked at him. A gift? Why was he being given a gift? He never received gifts. In fact, the last gift he had received was from Nyota, and it had been one of the shirts currently hanging up in his closet back at the hotel room. "You are…giving this to me? What would motivate you to carry out such a gesture?" the Vulcan blurted out in disbelief.

"Yes, you big tard! I'm giving those to you! On the house, too. And my _motivation,_ as you so eloquently put it, is because of your hard work around here. With those, when Harold is playing his god awful music come inventory night, you can pop those babies in those pointed ears and drown it out. They're supposed to block out all sound, after all," Wesley answered proudly, and crossed his arms in satisfaction. The human was practically radiating an emotional high, and all because of the prospect of giving a gift. Spock did not understand why such a thing would elicit that strong of an emotional response, and he did not know quite how to ask without sounding impolite.

Spock quickly pondered the prospect of headphones, and he wondered why he had not utilized them before now. Perhaps it was because they were not within his budget at the moment, and definitely not at two hundred credits. Also, would not music in general aggravate his migraine? How would the act of exchanging one song for another benefit him? But then a thought struck him. "You stated they had the capability of blocking out all incoming sounds?" he asked quickly.

This proved to be a good response, because Wesley's emotional high rose all the higher. "Yup. So really, you could use these at night when you sleep to tune out the city. I mean, they're for music, but I don't see why you couldn't use them as glorified ear plugs as well."

Spock's own small version of excitement reached up to join Wesley's, because _that _was something he could use. But when the Vulcan remembered the sale price that Wesley had stated, his excitement faltered and disappeared. "I cannot accept these, Mr. Crawford. They are much too expensive to be given freely, but I thank you for making such a gesture," he pointed out apathetically, and extended the hand with the box once again. How could he accept such an item for free? Would that not be the same as stealing?

Wesley's own excitement faltered as well, and he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest so that he could not take the box Spock was offering to him. "You will accept them, Spock. It's a gift. Price doesn't matter," he stated firmly, but the Vulcan wasn't backing down that easily.

"The company will not receive a payment for these. I fail to see how that does not matter."

Finally, the first wave of irritation came through, meaning that Spock had finally managed to annoy Wesley. "Look, Spock," he started with a sigh and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "I get an excess funds budget every month to use toward satisfying customers if the need arises, which is something you know all about." Spock inwardly flinched at the reference to his write up one month prior, and how Wesley had basically given a free holoplayer to a customer and his son all because of him. Yes, he _did _know all about it. "Let's just say I used a portion of those funds to get those for you. I'll put in a pseudo complaint later to cover for it. It doesn't really matter if the records show something different."

Spock frowned this time, which in turn caused Wesley to frown even more. However, there was nothing for it. While Spock did want the gift because of the peace and quiet it offered, he did not wish to have it at the cost of falsifying company records. What if it led back to him? Or, what if it lead to Wesley and caused him to lose his position? And all because of Spock's need for headphones? Such a thing coming to pass would be unacceptable.

"I do appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Crawford, but again, I cannot accept these. I would not wish for you to falsify company records in the pursuit of providing me with recreational items. If such a thing was revealed, you could face severe consequences," Spock pointed out, and nearly winced as Wesley's irritation grew in intensity.

"Dammit, Spock!" the human yelled in exasperation before taking a deep breath. "Okay fine, I bought them with my own credits. There. You can accept them now, can't you? No records falsified, so no harm done, right?" he furthered almost heatedly, and for a moment, Spock was terribly confused as to why this human _wanted _him to accept the headphones so much.

"You…purchased these with your own credits?" Spock asked a moment later in disbelief.

"Sure did," Wesley answered casually.

Spock still wasn't content. Two-hundred credits was a substantial amount, and especially to use on an item to be given to him of all people. A small feeling of apprehension coiled inside of Spock at that thought. What if there was some kind of catch? What if this wasn't a gift, but something else? What if this was a prelude to enticing Spock to feel a sense of obligation?

"Given that they are to be sold at such a substantial price, I can only assume that you will wish for something in return…" the Vulcan continued, which was all the more reason he wouldn't want the gift. He did not want to _owe _yet another thing to another person.

Wesley blinked at him, clearly stupefied. There was one emotion coming from him, and that was shock. "Spock, seriously? What—can a guy not buy a gift for another guy with no strings attached?" he asked in disdain, and for a moment, Spock regretted bringing it up at all. Wesley had been so happy a moment ago, and now he was just becoming angrier and angrier. But…Spock _had _to know. He had to know the terms with which he was going to accept anything someone gave to him. He would not make the mistake of accepting _anything_ ever again without knowing what would be expected of him in return. Not when there was a chance that he would not be able to return the gesture without sacrificing too much.

"People are not in the habit of giving me gifts, Mr. Crawford," Spock pointed out quietly. Almost too quietly to be heard over the music.

Wesley snorted. "Well, I just did," he snapped before adding in a softer tone, "and no, I don't want anything in return. Just keep up your hard work."

"Mr. Crawford—," Spock started again because honestly, he did not feel comfortable with this.

"_Please_, just take the damn headphones, Spock. Use them for whatever you want, but for Christ's sake, take them," the man cut him off in exasperation.

Given the authority in the tone, Spock accepted. "Very well," he stated and clutched the box tighter in his hands. He did not want to further anger his boss by continuing to decline the gift, and it _was _obvious that arguing the subject further was going to elicit such a response. Spock had vowed at the beginning of the month to do everything he could to keep his blood pressure under control. He had lost that battle three times already this month due to situations he could not control. Bringing unnecessary anger upon himself when it could be avoided was not a logical way to go about making sure that statistic stayed at three.

Wesley sighed in audible relief. "Awesome. I know you'll enjoy them. And…" he paused and leaned toward the Vulcan, his eyes narrowed. Spock resisted the urge to lean back. "Let's keep this between you and me. Harold don't need to know, or he'll shit bricks of jealousy. If he asks…you bought them for yourself."

Spock did not ask for clarification on how one might shit a brick containing the human emotion jealousy, and he did not comment about how he would rather not keep anymore secrets. He merely nodded his head in understanding. It mattered not what he wanted, if Wesley did not want Harold knowing, then he wouldn't know. It was not the worst secret he'd kept anyway. However, he was curious about one thing.

"Mr. Crawford, if I may, why does Mr. Harold not utilize headphones in place of the stereo system?"

Wesley laughed, but there wasn't any humor in it. "I tried that once. The man complained about how _ear buds _irritated him or some bullshit. But he'll still be upset that I gave you something, and didn't give him something."

"I see," Spock answered quietly.

"Okay, Spock. I'll let you get back to your inventory," the human said with a casual glance around the room, and then turned to walk out.

Feeling a want as well as an obligation to exhibit some form of appreciation, Spock cleared his throat and readied himself to talk once again over the loud music. "Thank you, Mr. Crawford, for the…gift."

Wesley didn't turn back around, but he threw his chin over his shoulder to answer him. "You're welcome."

Spock still heard him talking to himself once he was out in the hallway and walking back to his office. _"Jesus, if I'd known it was going to be this hard to…" _was all the Vulcan heard before the music drowned his voice out. Spock decided that was probably a good thing.

Once he was alone again, Spock eyed the new headphones and decided to take them out of the box. He would have to program them later for music should he become brave enough to listen, but for now, he would use them as ear plugs. His head was hurting worse now from Wesley's anger toward him, and if there was ever a need to stomp out the loud music, it was now.

Spock placed the right one into his ear first, and then the left. The way they felt as he placed them inside his ears was…fascinating, to say the least. It was almost as if the soft, rubbery ear tips on the buds were made of material capable of forming perfectly to his anatomy. Spock couldn't understand how Harold could have found ear buds irritating, unless they weren't all like this, which again, for two hundred credits, they probably were not.

The second they had finished forming to the inside of his ear, everything became silent. It was as if he had suddenly become deaf, or thrust out into the vacuum of space. He could hear absolutely nothing. Technically, there were several safety issues the notion of such silence brought forth, but given the instant relief Spock felt from not having to listen to that horrid music any longer, the Vulcan cared not what they were.

By the time Spock was finished with his allotment of the inventory duties, Harold had already gone. The Vulcan had not noticed his departure because quite frankly, not being able to hear anything had hindered his awareness in a lot of regards. In fact, the longer Spock had worn his new headphones, the more uneasy they had made him feel.

At first it had been a relief to not hear anything other than the sound of his own respiratory system, and sometimes, his heartbeat. To be able to take a reprieve from the blaring music had felt like a soothing balm had been applied generously onto his mind. But soon Spock had found himself growing quite uncomfortable with the utter silence. How could he defend himself from an attacker if he did not hear them coming? How would he be able to hear shouts or cries for him to exit should the building become compromised by a fire or some other hazardous event?

Spock hadn't had ample time yet, but as soon as he could, he was planning to read through the headphone's manual to discern if there was a way to enable at least a fraction of sound to come through. Such a thing would be a requirement if he were ever going to wear them again. As much as he yearned for the quiet, it would be unfortunate to fall asleep with them on and not wake up should an intruder come into his room because he could not hear them. Spock wanted them to block out some sounds, but not all of them.

Sometimes, the only thing that stood between a person and death was a mere sound.

"Hey Spock! You got something for me?" Wesley asked exuberantly from behind the desk where he was going over Harold's checklist on a PADD.

"Affirmative. Here are my completed checklists," Spock answered and handed the PADD over. "I have taken the liberty of organizing the items alphabetically so as to provide a more convenient relay of the numerical information I have acquired," he went onto explain as Wesley set to looking at the PADD, the tip of a stylus in his mouth.

"Alphabetically, huh? That's intense," Wesley smirked and finally looked up at him. Spock felt the man's amusement, though again, he did not understand the cause for it. He saw nothing humorous about making information easier to read and interpret. He also did not understand why such a thing would make anything more intense.

"I do not understand what you mean by _'intense'_, but you are correct," he stated apathetically, and clenched his eyes shut when his temple started stinging with pain. He was extremely ready to leave.

Wesley shook his head. "It's just an expression, Spock. You wouldn't really understand it, I guess…"

"Indeed," Spock answered impassively, and despite his earlier self-doubts, he felt a hint of resentment. He might understand certain concepts or idioms, but Spock disliked it when humans sought not to explain something to him purely because they believed he wouldn't be capable of understanding it. He was far more capable of understanding human expressions and concepts better than people thought he was. It was all a matter of just _explaining _it to him. But Spock suspected that was what most individuals would rather not do.

"How'd those headphones work out?" Wesley probed casually as his eyes scanned the information that Spock had just handed over.

"Quite efficiently, Sir…" Spock paused, and wondered if he should voice his opinions regarding just _how _efficiently they had worked. Would it be considered impolite? Would Wesley interpret the concern as a derogatory comment against the gift he'd given him? "Though, I am planning to determine if the settings can be altered to allow a minimal amount of sound to filter through. Complete silence is somewhat unsafe," he decided to go ahead and point out. Hopefully, Wesley would not take it as an affront.

"Unsafe? Really?" Wesley asked him in genuine bemusement. Spock felt his perplexion.

"Yes. If I were to wear them in the street, I would not hear the horn of an oncoming ground car that might be about to make physical contact with me. That is unsafe," Spock clarified.

"That's why you look where you're walking out in the street. So that doesn't happen," Wesley retorted dryly.

Spock pursed his lips. He always looked where he was walking, but it was not logical to rely on only the sense of sight to ensure one's safety when there was nothing wrong with his hearing. Why utilize one arm when you could utilize both? "That is not the only unsafe instance one could find themselves in. I would also not be able to hear an intruder behind me while wearing the headphones," Spock argued, though inside, he couldn't help but think that he would still probably be able to _feel _them. Especially if they meant to do him harm. But a human would not have that luxury.

The Vulcan inwardly paused on that thought. Perhaps he should reconsider his earlier decision to not wear the headphones unless he could alter the sound. He might not hear an intruder with the ear buds in, but he _would_ be able to feel them coming. In fact, he might possibly _feel_ someone hostile coming toward him long before he would be able to hear them. His time at Bellevue Hospital had shown Spock just how powerfully strong emotions could be felt despite the proximity.

Wesley sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Spock. Most people who've got headphones on _wouldn't_ hear someone sneaking up behind them. That's nothing new," he said contritely.

"Despite that fact, I will still endeavor to locate a setting that will enable the filtration of sound from an outside source," Spock reiterated. His mind had already been made up despite the revelation he had just come to.

Wesley rolled his eyes. "Well, whatever then. There probably is one. I haven't looked at all the specs on them yet. I'm sure you'll know every single thing about them come Monday anyway," he laughed. Spock silently agreed. "But anyway, thanks for getting this done. If Harold had been in charge of this checklist, he'd still be—,"

"Endeavoring to complete it as we speak," Spock finished for him.

"Exactly. So, thanks for always agreeing to do it," Wesley paused and palmed his forehead. "Oh, before I forget, I talked to my buddy earlier this week about you needing a roommate, and that you wanted to meet with him if possible?"

Spock straightened up. He had not forgotten about the inquiry he made to Wesley four days ago regarding the living status of his friend. After a month of still not being able to find a roommate, the Vulcan had been forced to mention it to him. He would rather not have a male as a roommate, but given the growing inconveniences of utilizing the hotel, as well as the rise in prices in the room rates, the Vulcan had been forced to compromise. It was _very _unfortunate that all of the roommates Spock found that _had_ agreed to meet with him, he had had to walk away from because of his inability to meet the rental requirements they had set. Most of those individuals had been quite amicable beings as well.

"I do recall that conversation, yes," Spock answered, and hoped that the offer would still be available, because quite frankly, he was out of options. Given what Wesley had stated about his friend, the man was in his late thirties, and lived a relatively neat and clean lifestyle. Wesley had said that he worked in the pharmaceutical industry, was quite responsible, and also had quite an affordable apartment.

It had seemed like an appealing living situation, and Spock had instantly wondered why this _friend_ hadn't found a tenant yet. When he had then inquired as to why that might be, Wesley had answered, _'He's had such a hard time finding someone because most of the people in New York needing a roommate are in their twenties, and just want to party. You'd be perfect because you don't do that stuff,' _

Wesley's answer had made the Vulcan feel slightly more confident on the issue, because if he could find a person that lived a quiet life, then perhaps it would be tolerable after all. If he could not obtain a roommate through Wesley though, then he would be forced to place an ad up for one. And the mere idea of putting his information up for anyone to see outside of the apartment website had not been and still was not a desirable route to take.

"He's agreed to meet with you, and if you're free tomorrow around noon? Then he's invited you over to see if you rooming with him is something he'd want to do. Like I said, he likes to interview people in person to determine if he could live with them," Wesley answered, and started using his stylus to write down information on a digital card.

Spock could not fault Wesley's friend. He would also like to interview him for the very same reasons, and since tomorrow was Sunday, then noon would not be a problem at all. "I will accept. Do you have an…" he started in an attempt to obtain an address and a name, but Wesley had beat him to it.

"His address is right here, and so is his communicator information. Oh, and his name's Rennan Morrison."

Spock accepted the digital card, briefly scanned the information, and then placed it in his pant pocket. "Thank you Mr. Crawford for inconveniencing yourself by setting up a meeting between us," he said gratefully.

Wesley waved him down. "Nah, it was no trouble. I'm not just helping you out. I'm helping him out too. I think you'll like him. I'll send him a message here in a bit telling him you'll be by tomorrow. I really do hope it works out. Living out of a hotel has got to be a bitch," his manager commented.

"It will be a relief to leave the hotel. Thank you again, Mr. Crawford. I will see you Monday morning."

"See ya, Spock!"

After returning to the hotel, Spock was pleased to find out that there was indeed a setting on the headphones to filter in sound. However, after twenty minutes of trying to go to sleep only to find that he couldn't because of a verbal fight that had started next door to him, Spock switched the setting back to complete silence. It wasn't long before his earlier theory proved correct, for despite not being able to hear anything, he was still able to _feel _the anger coming from next door. He convinced himself that that was enough.

**((oOo))**

Spock looked down at the address on the digital flashing card that Wesley had given him last night, and then back up at the brick apartment building in front of him. He felt a strange satisfaction in knowing that at least his navigational skills had not faltered, for it was apparent that he had arrived at 806 Fairmont Place in the South Bronx Neighborhood, which was Rennan Morrison's apartment complex.

The complex itself seemed to be quite large and interconnected to form a series of buildings that all overlooked the _Cross Bronx Expressway_ and all of its traveling ground and air cars. Each building stood eight stories high, and was occasionally accompanied by what looked like fire escapes that ran along down the front or side of them. Upon further inspection, Spock noted by the state of the brick and windows adorning the buildings that the complex was much older than he had anticipated.

But then again, given his price range, he really doubted he could afford anywhere more substantial. He only hoped that perhaps the inside of the apartment would be in far better shape than the outside.

On that note, Spock took a deep breath, put the card into the pocket of his coat, and proceeded up the concrete steps and inside the building.

Unsurprisingly, the lobby was not in much better shape than the outside of the building. Fortunately though, it was scarce and warm unlike the windy streets outside. Many would argue that the weather was warm and _pleasant _now that summer was beginning to arrive. Now New York had started exhibiting temperatures in the sixties and seventies.

A year ago, Spock would have found it quite tolerable, but now…he always seemed to be cold despite the warmth. It mattered not how many layers of clothes he donned, his circulation it seemed just wasn't what it used to be, and the Vulcan had a strong suspicion that his weight (or lack thereof) was the culprit.

Unlike back at the hotel, there was no receptionist inside Fairmont Place Apartments. However, given the information that Wesley had put down onto the card for him, Spock knew he would find apartment 240B on the very top floor. He was grateful for that because if he could live on the top floor, then there would be no one above him to make unnecessary noise, or bombard him with extra emotions. He would only have to concern himself with the neighboring apartments, and perhaps the apartment below his. In fact, on just that thought alone, being able to live on the top floor was currently outshining all of the negative features about Fairmont Place.

Quickly Spock looked for the turbolift, but the only one he could locate was closed off for repairs. That didn't surprise him at all. The entire building looked as if it required some manner of repair. But again, the prospect of having no individuals living above him made such a thing decrease in importance. Just thinking about the extra _quiet_ his mind would be able to acquire from such an agreeable living situation was making him eager. Eager enough that the stairs would be just fine for him on a permanent basis, if that was to be the case.

However, one trip up those stairs changed Spock's mind pretty quickly. In the time before, he would have frowned at the fact that by the time he reached the eighth floor, he was panting and out of breath. His heart was beating rapidly and his lungs felt depleted of air despite there being plenty of it for his consumption. He was soon dismayed that instead of immediately being able to return to his journey of finding Rennan Morrison's apartment, he instead had to take a moment of respite; to '_catch his breath'_. Such things only served to remind Spock of how weak he had managed to become over the passing months. What kind of Vulcan couldn't make it up eight flights of steps? His father, though considerably older than him, would have been able to walk them four times over without any complication, and yet Spock couldn't even imagine trying to make the attempt again and keep his dignity.

Putting his pity-filled thoughts aside, Spock straightened himself back up, peered at the lettering on the doors, and decided to travel down the left side of the hallway. When he passed the out-of-service turbolift, he scowled. He couldn't help thinking in a most emotional way that the turbolift had only stopped working for one reason: it had obviously known that Spock would be traveling here today and would wish to utilize it as all people utilized a turbolift, and thusly, had decided to take the opportunity to remind the Vulcan of how limited he was. In fact, it had probably functioned normally until Spock had arrived inside the building, and brought with him his usual wave of misfortune.

Shame instantly clutched at him because of his worthless musings. Such an accusation—and against a material thing such as a turbolift—was completely illogical and not even realistic. However, despite those facts, Spock had to admit…it had made him feel better to make the accusation anyway.

When he'd finally reached the door with the metal lettering that read, '240B', he paused, took his hat off, and smoothed his hair down. It was fascinating how with longer hair, Spock had found it much more difficult to keep straight and neat. If the experience had given him anything, it was a newfound admiration for the females around him that wore their hair four times as long, and managed to make it appear perfect at all times. Nyota in particular stood out in his mind as one of those females, and Spock instantly pushed her memory away. It pained him to think of her, and the way he had left her. He missed conversing with her, and thinking about that longing merely made his endeavor to appear calm and collected all the more difficult.

Once he felt as presentable as possible, Spock fought to quell his sudden feelings of apprehension and wariness at what was about to happen. In just a few moments, he would be inside another man's apartment. A man he did not know, and with the intention of living with him on a permanent basis. To say that Spock was less than comfortable would be an understatement. He did not want to do this. He did not want to share an apartment with anyone, and there was a large part of him that wished to forget the entire thing, turn around, and flee back down the stairs and back to the hotel where there was a locked door between him and every other person.

Except such a wish was not an affordable one. Therefore, he would have to do this. He _would _do this. And on that thought, Spock raised his hand and hit the door panel, his instincts protesting his actions every step of the way.

Only six point three seconds managed to pass by before the door opened, and Spock came face to face with a dark-eyed, seemingly older human exhibiting a large, welcoming smile. His hair was just as black as Spock's was, and nearly just as long, but where Spock was tall and unnaturally lean, this human was shorter and stockier. His black shirt clung to his chest, and his pale arms seemed to come out of the sleeves as if they didn't quite fit into them, suggesting quite a bit of muscle tone. Definitely more than the average human could hope to attain without performing a training regime on a routine basis, and perhaps consuming viable amounts of protein in addition to that regime.

All in all, the human looked intimidating, and his stature was one of someone who knew that fact.

"Are you Mr. Spock?" the human asked after Spock's prolonged silence. His voice was deep and smooth, and demanded attention. It was not the first voice Spock had heard in his life that had radiated confidence in such a way.

"Affirmative. Is this the residence of Mr. Morrison?" Spock answered fluidly, and clutched the hat in his hand with slightly more force. Performing such hidden gestures provided a strange sense of comfort that the Vulcan could not explain.

"Yup. You've got the right apartment. The name's Rennan, by the way. Nice to meet you," Rennan responded casually, and Spock was momentarily surprised that the human did not stick his hand out for him to shake. Most humans would have without a second thought because they were either not aware he was a Vulcan given his appearance, or they did not know enough about Vulcan telepathy to give it concern.

Then again, this man was supposedly a friend of Wesley's. It was very possible that his manager had informed Rennan beforehand of Spock's reluctance to touch others. If that were the case, at least he could assume that the human's memory was functioning adequately.

"It is agreeable to make your acquaintance as well, Mr. Morrison," Spock answered, and waited for the amusement that most human's exhibited when they heard him speak. Oddly enough though, it never came. Perhaps Rennan had been around Vulcans before. Even when he eventually elicited a small chuckle, the emotions that should be behind such an expressive act still remained elusive.

Honestly, Spock wasn't sure what to think about that. Given the close proximity, Spock was certain he should have felt some form of emotion by now. While it was a relief not to feel them, the Vulcan had to admit that he had become somewhat reliant on interpreting them as a way of discerning the intentions of others. How could he discern Rennan's intentions toward him if he could not feel his anger? Or hate? Or…lust?

"You can call me Rennan, Spock," Rennan began humorously. "Mr. Morrison makes me feel weird."

Spock let an eyebrow rise, for he could feel no such emotions, and it only further confused him. Had…had his shields somehow started functioning again? Wouldn't he know something like that though? Wouldn't he have felt it? Then again, it had been such a long time since he had had the luxury of utilizing his mental shields that it was quite possible he might not have felt a change until the last moment. And on that thought, Spock couldn't help but feel a small burst of excitement. If his shields were somehow coming back…

But whatever reprieve he had obtained from such a thought was short-lived when someone from the apartment next to Rennan's suddenly emerged shouting obscenities to an individual still inside the dwelling.

"That's fine then you fucking bitch! We'll see how long you last before you come cryin' back to me! I hope he can make you as happy as I could've! Fuck you!" the man shouted just before he slammed the door and headed in Spock's direction toward the turbolift at almost a dead run, all the while mumbling curse words under his breath. He was radiating fury, and violent impulses, and Spock couldn't help but wince slightly when the man passed just behind his exposed back.

Instinctively, Spock stepped forward and away from the man's physical and mental presence, and then immediately felt embarrassed. He had nearly stepped into Rennan and invaded his personal space, and all to avoid coming into contact with the other human currently fleeing from an apartment. Such a thing was considered rude, was it not? Had he not been reprimanded on the sidewalks countless times by the pedestrians he used to have the misfortune of walking into on occasion?

However, when Spock fixed his expression back on Rennan to determine just what he thought about the invasion, the human was watching the other man with a curious gaze. Spock couldn't help but feel relieved at that. Perhaps his weakness had not been seen, and therefore, he would not be judged.

"Goddamn piece of fucking shit turbo-lift!" Spock heard the other human yell from down the hallway. Obviously, he had discerned that he would have to take the stairs, and had not taken it as well as Spock had. At least he would be walking down them, and not up them.

"Uh, sorry about that. They've been…well, they've been fighting for awhile now," Rennan started awkwardly and stepped to the side. "You wanna come in? I mean, I don't want to scare you off, but you can see how feisty it can get out here in the hallway," he laughed, and invited Spock in with a wave of his hand.

Spock blinked and stood there in silence. On the inside, he was fighting with himself. If he were to answer the inquiry truthfully? Then no, he did not want to come inside. The idea of going into the apartment with this human was actually making him want to turn and walk away in the other direction. It was safer in the hallway. The stairs were just a scant few feet away…

But, if he walked away now, his finances would just force him to find another prospective roommate, and as much as Spock wanted to do so, he could not live alone. He could not afford it. So far, Rennan had been nothing but cordial and surprisingly unemotional.

_Should I not feel something from him, though? _Spock thought warily, because despite the relief of finding a human that did not radiate their emotions in the way he had become accustomed to, that also concerned him.

"Uh…" Rennan started when Spock remained unmoving, and then a moment later, and for the first time, the Vulcan finally felt a sliver of bemusement from the human. It was the first show of emotion he'd been able to feel, and despite the small pang of discomfort Spock felt as a result, he wasn't prepared for the relief it gave him on top of that. If Rennan could feel bemusement, then it stood to reason that he could also feel other emotions like the human that had just come from the other apartment. It _therefore_ stood to reason that if Rennan were to suddenly feel anger toward Spock, or perhaps violent emotions, the Vulcan would feel them and could react accordingly.

"Forgive me. Yes, I will accompany you into your dwelling. Thank you," Spock answered quickly and watched as Rennan moved further backward to permit him entrance. Before he could talk himself out of it, Spock walked inside and did not flinch when he heard the door shut, effectively closing off his exit. The stairs were no longer as easily reachable.

_Compose yourself, _Spock inwardly chastised as the beginnings of fear grabbed at him. _Control your fear. Do not let it control you. _

He was overreacting, and it shamed him. He was an adult. Not a child. He should be able to enter another person's apartment with little to no complication. He would rise above it. He had to. To not do so would have horrible consequences.

"Uh, you can put your coat in that closet there," the human suggested and indicted to a door just off to the right.

"I would prefer to remain wearing it if it does not offend you," he declined as politely as possible.

Spock inwardly paused when the other man frowned at his answer. Perhaps it _did_ offend him. That was unfortunate. "I…confess that I am still unaccustomed to the northern climate. Vulcans prefer warmer temperatures. My coat permits me something akin to my desired temperature," he decided to add, and hoped that perhaps his desire to wear his coat inside would appear logical, and not because Spock merely wished to be as clothed as possible in front of a male he did not know with the door currently closed, and in a room where no one else knew he was.

"Hey, that's cool. I can turn the heat up if you'd like?"

Spock shook his head. "That is not necessary. I would not ask you to inconvenience yourself solely for my comfort," he clarified, and took the opportunity to look around himself. The front door had brought them into a small hallway that Spock assumed led to a living area. The hallway was too small in his opinion, and he wished they could move into a larger room where he could put space between himself and Rennan. The human might not be exhibiting hostile emotions, but Spock felt he would be far more comfortable with slightly more proximity between them.

"It's really not a problem. Besides, if you're going to live here, you've got to be comfortable too, right?" Rennan argued with a smile, and when Spock felt the faint hint of compassion and respect from the human, he turned from a particularly interesting painting of a foreign symbol on the wall and regarded him thoughtfully. Not many individuals cared for his comfort. Not many individuals respected him either. And, that was…strange to feel.

"Perhaps," Spock answered quietly, and waited for the caring feelings to leave only to be replaced with indifference or even amusement. But again, no such emotions came. There was the faint sense of curiosity shining its way through, and perhaps excitement, but just like the compassion and respect, they were not strong enough to cause Spock discomfort. Such a revelation was fascinating to him. Spock had not met a human as emotionally quiet as Rennan, and honestly it left him slightly baffled. Perhaps there was something about his cognitive functioning that permitted him to exhibit such feats. An anomaly of some sort. There were only two ways to know for certain though, and Spock was not about to utilize them.

"I'll take that as a yes, then," Rennan started and then sighed. "Well, if you'll follow me through here and into the living room, I'll bump the air up a couple of degrees for you. This is an old building, so it's not voice activated like those fancy starships you're used to," he ended casually, and before Spock could respond, set off down the hallway with the clear indication that the Vulcan should follow.

Spock resisted the urge to point out that he had grown quite unused to Starships during his time on Earth. The two hotels he had stayed in over the past four months had seen to that.

"Feel free to take a seat. That couch is brand new, actually," the human invited as they came into the living room.

Unlike the hallway, the living room was quite open, and bright with sunshine given the two large windows. There was steel piping on the ceiling with light fixtures hanging down by a chain link at varying lengths that reflected off the light wooden floor beneath it. Also, unlike the hallway, the walls were all made up of expensive looking brick, and Spock was unsure if the building had been designed that way, or if it had been altered after the fact because the rest of the complex did not appear to be in this good of shape, nor this customized.

The couch that Rennan had referred to was a dark grey color with bright red square pillows and a chair to match. The brick walls directly behind the sofa held a large picture of a painted mahogany colored bird that hung directly over an in-table that had an ambient light sitting atop it. There was a _Soundwave_ stereo in front of the sofa, and a holovision screen directly above it. The screen was much too large for the size of the living room, but Spock decided not to think anything of it. In his time at Barton, he had come to realize that most humans preferred holovision screens that were outlandishly large.

There were a few other odd decorations scattered about the room, but other than that, it was all very neat and ordered. Spock could see where the living room veered off into a kitchen, a bathroom, and perhaps the bedrooms, and overall, he was impressed. While it was not décor he would have chosen himself, the apartment was clean and organized like Wesley had said. He really could not hope for more than that.

"I find your home quite agreeable. It is obvious you have taken a substantial amount of time in decorating it and providing upkeep for it," Spock decided to say as he came to the couch and took a tentative, rigid seat. He hoped he said the right things. He was not used to giving such compliments.

"Thanks. It's taken some time to get it how I want it, and there are still some things I'd like to do, but…all in good time," Rennan answered and walked over to a panel on the wall to presumably change the temperature.

"Indeed," Spock answered and attempted to sit himself straighter on the couch when he realized he was sinking down into it. The cushions were too soft in his opinion. He would have preferred something stiffer, but again it did not matter. He had not paid for the couch after all. He didn't even own a couch so he was grateful just to be able to sit on one.

"So!" Rennan started excitedly as he came back into the living room and sat himself down in the chair across from Spock. "Wesley told me about you awhile ago, but he said you were going to try and live on your own before trying to get a roommate. I'm guessing that really didn't work out."

Spock cleared his throat. That was partially true. However, Rennan had not been his first choice. He had tried to acquire his own roommate without Wesley's help, and he had failed to do so. Perhaps Wesley hadn't told Rennan that though. "That is correct. As a Vulcan, I of course would prefer to live alone. However, I found that that would be financially impossible. Therefore, I have been actively seeking a roommate."

Rennan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, he mentioned something about that…" he let his voice trail off in uncertainty, but again, Spock felt no indifference or confusion. He could tell from Rennan's expression though that the human was confused about something. Perhaps it was confusion as to how Spock had ended as financially troubled as he was given that he had once worked for Starfleet.

"I am currently paying off a debt owed to Starfleet due to my sudden resignation, Mr. Morrison," Spock started plainly. These were things that not even Wesley knew, but if Spock was going to live under the same roof as this human, and taking a share in the monthly bills, then he felt he owed it to him to be truthful as to what financial obligations he had. "Unfortunately, this debt is costly, and is a large reason why I cannot afford to live on my own. It is why I am seeking a roommate, and preferably someone who is…is not…" Spock paused and furrowed his brow in mild frustration. How could he phrase that he wanted a roommate who was not emotionally unstable? A roommate who adhered to normal waking and sleeping hours and was not overly loud? A roommate who did not imbibe alcohol on a regular basis? Or was not violent or erratic? How did one state such things without appearing picky or arrogant?

"I understand, Spock. You don't want someone who's going to party all the time, or keep you up all night, or, in your case, act completely illogical twenty-four hours a day? Am I getting close?" Rennan finished knowingly.

Spock blinked up at him in amazement. The human was perceptive, he would give him that. "I would not state it in those words, but essentially you are correct," he said quietly, and waited to hear the dreaded, '_I think I'll keep looking' _statement, which again was confusing. It was as if his mind could not decide whether it wished to room with Rennan, or not.

"Well fortunately for me, _Mr. _Spock, I'm looking for the same kind of person you are. I'm thirty seven years old, and let's face it, I don't party as much as I used to. Don't have the time for it, and most people my age have got a family by now and are living with them, not a roommate. So, you can imagine my dilemma in finding someone who I don't have to watch stumble in at some ungodly hour of the night puking their brains out. Most people looking for a roommate are in their twenties," Rennan stated in mild disdain, leaned back in his chair, and folded his hands behind his head.

Spock peered up at him. "I am twenty-nine standard Earth years, Mr. Morrison," he pointed out.

Rennan smirked. "You're a year away from thirty. So I caught you a bit early, oh well," he laughed and then became serious. "Now, while I'm not into the _club_ scene? I do like to hang out with the guys once in awhile. I do have alcohol here, and no, I _don't_ go to bed at eight o'clock every night. I just want to put that out there in case you are expecting something different to come from this possible arrangement. I know you're Vulcan, so I suspect I'll have to compromise on some things like perhaps the temperature in here, but I just want you to know all the facts. I don't have a _hard _lifestyle, but I'm no nun either."

"I would not expect you to change your lifestyle in such a way, Mr. Morrison. I have lived amongst humans for a substantial amount of time now, and I do not believe your hobbies and pastimes will interfere with myself, or inconvenience me. I only ask that I be permitted a room of my own to withdraw to. I would also ask that while in my room, I would prefer not to be disturbed. There are certain routines I adhere to that require solitude and silence," Spock answered gently, but firmly. He did not want to alienate the human, but he also wanted to make it clear that when he was in his space, it was _his _space and no one else's. It was difficult enough coming to terms with the fact that he would be living with another male that he barely knew let alone having to constantly worry about that male coming into his room unannounced and without permission.

Rennan smiled. "I think I can handle that, Spock. This is a two bedroom apartment, so you will have your own room. In fact, would you like a tour real quick?"

"If it would not inconvenience you, I would not be averse to such a thing," Spock answered.

"Psssh, of course it's not an inconvenience! You ought to see where you might be living! Here, I'll show you the kitchen and bathroom first…"

Just like the hallway by the front door, the kitchen was too small for comfort, but the neatness of and organized feel to it made up for that. There were no unsightly dishes lingering around, or infestations of any kind, and the appliances all looked fairly new. The bathroom was in the same shape, and as Rennan led him back to what would be his bedroom, Spock swallowed down the disdain he felt at the prospect of sharing a bathroom with someone else. It had not gone very well on the Enterprise when Spock had shared a bathroom with Jim, and he had _known_ Jim.

Or, he thought he had known him.

Needless to say, the thought of showering in a place where Rennan could easily access him was terrifying would be an understatement.

Oddly enough though, when they reached the bedroom, Spock felt his fear sliding away, and in its place, a sense of calm took over. It was an odd sensation that confused him because he had not consciously been trying to rid himself of the emotion. However, he paid it no attention. He wanted to control his fear, didn't he? Therefore, the fact that it was disappearing when he needed it to was just a positive thing as far as he was concerned.

"And _this_ will be your bedroom," Rennan announced loudly while the door swung open to reveal a 9x9 room with the same wooden floors as the living room, and the same brick walls. There was one lone window that Spock could see that overlooked the expressway outside, and in the middle of the floor was a mattress with a dark green comforter already spread across it. A desk and drawers stood on either side of it. Other than those three items, the room was barren.

"This furniture was left by my last roommate. He ended up joining Starfleet actually, and didn't need to take it. But if you've got your own, we can move this out," the human furthered while Spock walked into the room and fingered the comforter. He was secretly glad it was green, and not purple.

The pallet on Altriri IV had been purple…

"I actually do not own any furniture, so if it is not an inconvenience, I would like to utilize this," Spock answered and walked over to the closet to peer inside. His chessboard would go in there. "I will of course pay you for it. Though I will have to make payments to you," he decided to add once he'd processed what he'd said. Just because Rennan's previous roommate had left his possessions did not mean Spock had the right to just start using them like they were his own. Everything had a price.

"You don't have to do that, Spock. This stuff is just sitting in here, and honestly, you're doing me a favor by moving in and using it, should you choose to do so," Rennan assured him, and Spock felt a surge of sincerity from him. It was much stronger than all the previous emotions he'd felt from the human, and for a moment, he wasn't sure how to interpret that.

"That is appreciated, Mr. Morrison."

"_Rennan, _Spock," he corrected

"Very well. Rennan," Spock corrected himself and walked back toward the door.

When they came back into the living room the human veered him off toward the kitchen and to the dining table. "If you'll take a seat there, I'll get the PADD with all the pricing information on it. Can I get you something to drink or anything?"

Spock gingerly sat down at the table and clasped his hands together in his lap. "Negative. I do not require anything at this time. Thank you for inquiring."

"Okay. Be right back," Rennan responded and walked out of the kitchen. Spock took that moment to reanalyze his thoughts so that he could make a decision. So far he had been in Rennan's apartment a total of twenty minutes and thirty-two seconds, and nothing bad had happened to him. No one had attacked him. No one had…taken from him. In fact, Spock was just now realizing that even his migraine had dulled down to such a point where it was only just there. Barely palpable. The fear he had been feeling a several minutes ago had completely disappeared now, and Spock didn't feel as if it would return. Errantly he wondered if perhaps the _quietness _that Rennan had so far exhibited played a factor in that. Perhaps because Spock was not playing host to Rennan's emotions to an unbearable degree, he was able to center his own. That alone was certainly an appealing feature to the Vulcan. What would be the chances of finding another individual like Rennan in the time frame he had to work with? If he was going to be forced to live with another, shouldn't he jump at the chance of finding someone like Rennan? In fact, now that he was thinking about it, it did seem like the most logical idea he had had in a long time. He almost felt compelled to agree right then, which again, was unlike him but he couldn't bring himself to care.

If Rennan was this stable all of the time, then Spock didn't think he could hope for a better match.

"Sorry that took so long. I couldn't find the PADD," Rennan announced loudly, effectively bringing Spock out of his musings.

"There is no need to apologize," he answered and straightened up at the table. The apartment had gotten warm by now, and Spock resisted the sudden urge to remove his coat. That was odd as well. Normally, Spock would not have wanted to do such a thing because removing his coat just exposed him more; made him more vulnerable; but for some reason, he felt…_comfortable _enough to do so, even with Rennan there.

Fascinating.

"Okay, so the rent is about eight-fifty a month, so that will be four-twenty-five for you," Rennan started professionally and pointed to the information on the PADD's screen. "The utilities we can split, which in my experience comes out to about one-hundred a piece—or, at least that's how it was with me and my last roommate. You're Vulcan, so you probably don't use as much water as a human does, so it could be cheaper. Then again, the electric bill might go up and even it out," he finished and looked to Spock for approval.

"I find those terms fair and acceptable," Spock answered agreeably. He could afford four hundred and twenty-five credits a month, and he could also afford the proposed utility bill.

Rennan nodded at his approval and continued. "We can split the grocery bill, or we can just buy our own groceries if you'd rather go that route. Personally? I'm more for splitting the bill because when you start sectioning off food in the fridge, it can get confusing, and…well let's just say sometimes that doesn't end well. Just throwing that out there," Rennan warned with an uneasy laugh, and again, Spock relished in the quietness of his amusement. It did not bother his head at all, and that was a thing to behold.

"If you would prefer to divide the grocery bill evenly, then I am amenable to such a proposal," Spock stated. He would not eat as much as Rennan would to really make the bill even. He knew that. But he wanted to be agreeable. For some reason, he _felt _like being agreeable so as to make the entire process run more smoothly. Rennan had vocalized a disdain for separating food items. Therefore, Spock would not be the cause of that disdain.

An errant wave of satisfaction came from Rennan at Spock's answer, and he smiled in response. "Well okay then, Spock. I know I've made my decision. I like you. You seem like an easy guy to live with, and as long as you can handle the budget, I would like to have you as a roommate."

The logical part of Spock told him to wait a few days. To think over such a large decision. But there was another part of him that urged him to just get on with it. He was tired of not having a permanent place to come back to when his long shifts came to an end. He was tired of looking for roommates only to be turned down because of some reason or another. He was tired of not knowing his future or where it was going. Could he really hope for a more beneficial or affordable living situation than what Rennan was presenting him with? He was Wesley's friend after all, and while Wesley had his faults, Spock did like him.

Would Wesley choose a questionable being for him to live with? Wesley liked Spock, so would he do that to him?

_You should take the requisite time to make this decision, Spock. You should not rush into this. Do not make the mistake of assuming that Wesley 'looks out for you'. Only you can look out for yourself, _his Vulcan half urged and reminded him simultaneously, and honestly Spock wished to silence that half permanently. How dare it show its face now when Spock had needed his Vulcan half so many times before only to be given the cold shoulder.

Spock did not want to be scared anymore, and as odd as it was, he felt safe in Rennan's apartment. He couldn't explain it. He just _did._ Such thoughts should alarm him, for Spock had no reason to feel such security with a man he barely knew, but that too was not registering for the Vulcan at the moment. Where he should feel wary and alarmed, he felt nothing. Only a want 'to act' and 'to do.'

But…he really should take a day…

"Tell you what. Go home and sleep on it, and let me know by the end of the week if you'd like to move in. We can go from there. That room has been sitting empty for a couple of months now. It's not going anywhere," Rennan suggested in that smooth voice, and crossed his muscular arms over his chest.

Spock looked up, the ongoing battle within himself effectively interrupted. It was as if the human had _known _he was having a silent dispute. A second later he nodded and stood up. "I believe I shall do that. I will give you an answer before that deadline," he answered fluidly.

Rennan smiled casually. "Sounds good to me, Spock. Let me show you to the door," and with that, the pair walked out of the kitchen, through the living room, and back to the front door. "Have a safe trip back, Spock, and thanks for coming out whatever decision you make," Rennan said amicably just as Spock went out into the hallway.

"Thank you for also taking the time to meet with me. I will contact you. Good bye, Rennan," Spock said gently. He pondered holding up the Vulcan _ta'al, _but decided against it. It felt weird to use that gesture now, despite having used it his entire life.

When he got back to his hotel room and was greeted by the usual emotional bombardment and noises, he wondered why he just didn't give his decision back there in the apartment. The decision to become Rennan's roommate. His head had felt so much better there than here, and while he could not explain that, he could not deny that that had been what he felt. Rennan intrigued him, and for the first time in four months, Spock felt some semblance of contentment regarding his future.

**AN. Now, before anyone chews my head off about how **_**accepting **_**Spock is with Rennan? Just know that not all is what it seems with him. You're not seeing his POV in this so I'm writing him purely from Spock's POV right now. Also, I am going to try my hardest to update next Sunday, by school is getting into the last couple of weeks, and I might get overloaded with work, so I'm just putting that out there. If you don't see an update, I haven't abandoned anything, I just couldn't put it up. I really hope everyone had a great week. I removed a negative aspect/relationship from my life this week, and I have to say, I'm feeling much better for having done it. Thanks for reading and if you have the time…reviewing! **


	20. Good Enough

**A.N. Hi Everyone! I want to thank you guys for your patience! I'm so sorry this took so long. School is tearing me a new ass, and with the holiday…things got hectic. Hopefully, this 23k chapter will make up for it. I want to thank everyone for their badass reviews in the last chapter, and the kudos and bookmarks of course. I want to thank Coccinelle and Rubyhair for their undying support of me during this. **

**And a big special thank you to my new friend, Christine, who has been sooooo important to this chapter, and the next two still to come. **

**Now…in regards to this chapter. We're getting into the lowest parts of the story, ya'll. I will warn for angst in this. I did cry in one part. For some reason, this story and it's subject matter get to me a lot more than perdition does. Perhaps it's because I can relate to some of these feelings. I know through some of you that it's the same. Hopefully, by the end, you will more about my intentions with Rennan.**

**I did rush through editing for this, so if there is a glaring typo or something, feel free to let me know so I can fix it! Please enjoy!**

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Good Enough**

"I heard you're moving into Rennan's place today. Don't you think it'd be better to wait until the weekend?" Wesley asked casually as he strode up to the front desk where Spock had just finished checking out a customer.

Harold, who'd just noticed Wesley's arrival, was off to the side and rushing to put up his PADD. Wesley's appearance had been abrupt, and therefore, Spock's coworker had had little time to make it appear as if he was actually contributing to his position as a repair/sales associate. Spock of course, had felt the human coming from his office and down the hallway. In fact, given how often he found himself around his human work associates, which was far more time than he spent anywhere else, it had become increasingly easier to pick up on their locations by way of their mental signatures. It mattered not where they were in the building. He found he could always sense them.

The Vulcan turned to face Wesley at his inquiry, and inwardly wished the human would refrain from asking him personal questions in front of Harold. He didn't particularly care for anyone knowing his personal affairs, but especially not his coworker.

"While it would be preferable to wait until Sunday due to my obligations at Global X Solutions in the evening, and this position during my day-time hours, I regret that I cannot adhere to such a time frame for reasons out of my control," Spock answered quietly, and in a way that said, _'that is all that I am willing to discuss'_. Spock didn't think that Wesley needed to know that the reason he was moving out now, just barely a week after his meeting with Rennan Morrison at his apartment, was because if he lingered at his hotel any longer than today, Monday, he would owe more credits to the hotel than he really had at his disposal. The credits that would have gone to an extra week at the hotel Spock had already used when he went to Rennan's apartment yesterday afternoon to sign the leasing agreement, and give his new roommate the first month's rent. Also, since he had just paid his bill to Starfleet a few days ago, he really didn't have those extra days to spare any longer to a room in a hotel. He needed to move into Rennan's as quickly as possible. That's where he was paying to live now.

Wesley peered at him sympathetically, and Spock pursed his lips as that same sympathy paraded into his mind. "Yeah but, your job starts at seven, don't it?" he started with a raised eyebrow. "And that's not including the travel time. Will you have time to move in three hours?" he asked skeptically.

Behind Spock and off to the right, Harold sighed and busied himself at one of the terminals. It was obvious he did not favor listening to Wesley and Spock converse about such topics. He could feel the large human's annoyance, but that wasn't anything new, and despite the discomfort it caused him, Spock felt a strange satisfaction at the prospect of _'getting on the human's nerves'_, as Nyota would have said.

Spock had never enjoyed listening to _Harold's _personal conversations either when his friends came in, or when he conversed over his communicator, but that had never made a difference. He still had had to listen. It was only fitting then that Harold had to listen to him and Wesley.

"I will manage," the Vulcan answered without meeting Wesley's eyes. Truth be told, he didn't exactly know how he would manage it, but he had little choice. By the time Spock would arrive back at his hotel, twenty minutes will have likely gone by. He suspected it would take another twenty to thirty minutes to gather what scant belongs he _did _own and then check out of the hotel. By the time he would arrive at Rennan's, Spock knew he would only have a small amount of time permitted to him to unpack and attempt to settle in before he had to leave again. His route took him outside the city tonight to a large business office just on the outskirts of Manhattan, so Spock knew he would have to leave well before seven in order to arrive on time.

"Yeah, but you won't even have time to settle in!" Wesley replied in exasperation, and Spock permitted himself a small sigh. He had enough of his own exasperation to deal with. He did not need Wesley's.

"Psssh, settle in my ass…" a sarcastic Harold sounded aimlessly just as Spock opened his mouth to reply.

"I am uncertain as to what the term, _'settle in'_ implies, but unless it has to do directly with the work order I am endeavoring to complete at the moment…" Spock started. He was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the screen in front of him with Wesley's bombarding emotions screaming at him in the background, demanding his attention in every way. It was strange sometimes to think how much he'd taken his shields for granted when he had access to them. How _easy _had been to shut people out. Now, it wasn't just voices that were capable of getting his attention whether he wanted to give it or not. Now…the emotions of others were just as capable, if not more so.

It was unbearably frustrating.

"I think you should take the rest of the day off. Get a head start," Wesley countered, and was determined to bring his advice into reality. That much Spock could feel.

Harold's head flew up at that. "A day off? The hell?!" the large man yelled in shocked rage, but Wesley was ignoring him, his eyes on Spock only.

Spock blinked. "Pardon?" he finally asked, uncertain what his manager's intent was. Why would he be given a day off? Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to him. "Am I…" he started with a furrowed brow, "being written up?" he ended quietly as if just speaking it would make it so. Quickly he went over the entire day in his head. He did not think he had done anything to merit an official reprimand. Despite Spock's unusually intense migraine, he had not been rude to Harold all day. He had not been rude to any customers either. He had done his job—as far as he knew—in a commendable fashion. Why was he being sent home?

A brief flicker of shock cascaded through Wesley before he answered. "Written up? What? No, of course not!"

"Then I fail to see why I am—," Spock started only to be cut off by Harold, who had come to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Vulcan; fury radiating off of him.

"Yeah, I also fucking _fail_ to see why he's being sent ho—," the man began fitfully. It was obvious that Harold did not find the prospect of manning the front desk in solitude very agreeable.

Well, Spock did not find the prospect of being sent home again agreeable either. At least they were both in disagreement about something.

"Hey, hey!" Wesley cut them both off loudly, and Spock felt feelings of regret emanating from him. "Okay, first of all," he started again and glanced at Harold, "don't curse in here. We've talked about that, and _you_," Wesley turned his eyes back to Spock. "No. You're not being written up." Wesley rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Spock. You assume the worst of every situation. I'm _sending_ you home so you can move your stuff and not have to rush around doing it. It's Monday. We're slow and we're going to stay slow," he finally finished in a stern tone.

Spock winced as frustration rose up to mingle with Wesley's regret. He should not have assumed a reprimand. He should have heard Wesley out first.

"But?—But what if there's a _House Call_? How am I gonna go on it if you send him—," Harold jerked his chubby face in Spock's direction, "home? What do I look like here? a doormat?"

The level of anger in the room was rising at an alarming rate, and Spock could not help but pinch the bridge of his nose in-between his fingers to help pacify his migraine. He wanted to shout. He wanted to express this invasion of anger, but he knew just how inappropriate that would be. Instead, through closed eyes, he said, "Mr. Crawford. I appreciate your intentions, but I wish to remain here for the remainder of my shift."

Spock waited a moment to open his eyes again. When he did, Wesley was giving him a tired look. A look that held frustration, indifference, and oddly enough, pity.

"Of course you would, Spock. But I think you should just take the rest of the day. You'll need those two hours," his boss argued further as if it should've been obvious.

Spock gave another sigh, ignored the shame from doing so, and straightened up. Wishing to pacify the anger in the room was not the only reason he did not want to be sent home. "Mr. Crawford. I must insist on this. I cannot afford to leave work prematurely," he muttered in some illogical hope that perhaps Harold would not hear him. It was horrible enough having his personal affairs being spoken about so casually. He did not want to add to the experience by having Harold become intimately familiar with his financial struggles.

Harold remained blessedly silent, but his disbelief was palpable. He probably would have never assumed Spock struggled financially.

Well, now he no longer needed to assume. The truth was out there. The human could do with it what he wished.

"Spock. It's called 'PTO' for a reason. Don't worry about those two hours. You'll be paid for them," Wesley stated with an even gaze.

Harold's disbelief turned back into anger. "PTO? For what? So he can _move _his shit somewhere? I didn't get that when I moved two years ago!"

Wesley's eyes snapped over to Harold where they hardened. "That's enough, Harold. He's earned it, and it's none of your business anyway. It's two whole hours. You can handle two whole hours by yourself."

Harold's chest bowed up like he might argue further, but a sharp look from Wesley silenced him. Harold's anger increased as a result with the dying urge to verbalize his emotions further, but the only expression he gave was a loud, exaggerated groan. It appeared that even he knew where to quit when it came to arguing with Wesley.

"Now that that's settled," Wesley started tiredly before turning back to Spock, where his eyes softened again. "Get out of here, Spock. We can 'man the ship' without you. Your hours won't suffer."

Spock canted his head. "Are you certain?" he asked, and resisted the sudden urge to express how this wouldn't be the first 'ship' that could go on without his assistance.

Wesley laughed and shook his head in amusement before coming around the desk. "Yeah, Spock. I'm certain. Get out of here. I'm glad you found a place to stay." He slapped a hand on Spock's shoulder. The Vulcan resisted his wish to flinch backward. "Rennan's a good guy. I think you'll be happier there than at a hotel," he finished sincerely.

Spock nodded and ignored the low string of profanity from his coworker. "Thank you, Mr. Crawford. I hope the remainder of your day will be productive," he stated and went to retrieve his coat.

"It will be. See ya' tomorrow," Wesley answered, glared at Harold again, and then retreated back to his office.

"You know, it's like eighty degrees out there. You don't need that mammoth coat. If you only knew how ridiculous you looked," Harold spat just as Spock was clocking himself out of the system; his coat firmly bundled around him.

Spock let out a minute sigh. He could explain yet again that while Harold might find it warm outside, as a half-Vulcan, Spock still found it unbearably cold. Whether or not his current weight—or lack thereof—had anything to do with it was something the Vulcan would rather just ignore for the time being. However, for all the good that would do him, instead Spock settled out and out brusqueness. "This will be the _fifteenth_ time you have made such a statement to me, and I will state this again," he started, hit 'confirm' on the screen for his clock out, and turned to face a scowling Harold. "For the fifteenth time, your opinion on my choice of attire matters not. It is obvious that what you and I find agreeable fall into very different categories."

"You got that right," Harold hissed under his breath and crossed his meaty arms defiantly. Spock felt the irritation rolling off of him in waves. It seemed that no matter how many days went by, Harold and he would never get along amicably. There would always be this flow of irritation between them. At first Harold was mainly the source. But lately? Spock had been contributing his own fair share of irritation into the mix. He was being more and more emotional toward the human.

His migraines hated him for that.

"So I will make this request of you again. For the fifteenth time. Do not concern yourself with whether or not I choose to wear a coat. Do not concern yourself with anything I choose to do that occurs outside of this environment. It has no bearing on the outcome of your day. Therefore, it is not logical to waste valuable time commenting on it," Spock spat out, ignoring the man's bitterness, and the way his face grew darker and darker throughout the entire time he had been speaking. Spock was aware of his own harsh inflections, and how emotional they probably had sounded, but they could not have been helped. Through experiencing Harold's immense irritation for him, Spock could not help but express his own in response. This was precisely why Vulcans placed such emphasis on meditating. To channel and process those emotions before they become something like a festering wound.

However, Spock could not meditate. He had not been able to meditate in quite some time. Therefore, on occasion, he'd been forced to express them vocally. It was such a shameful thing, but he couldn't help it.

Harold stiffened and curled his lip, completely unaware of Spock's inner turmoil. "You're wrong about that. It _does_ have a fucking bearing on my day, and this environment to, if you want to get technical."

Spock's eyebrow rose in the darkest way imaginable. "Clarify," he said shortly. He should just put an end to this conversation. He should just ignore Harold and walk out. Wesley had been kind enough to give him the rest of the day off, with pay, and here he was, arguing like a child with his human coworker about whether or not wearing a coat was offensive.

"Don't you understand what people think when they see someone walking around with a damn coat on that large in the summer? They think you're hiding something. Like maybe a goddamned phaser, or something bigger," Harold explained as if it should be obvious.

For a moment, Spock wasn't sure how to respond. He had never thought about it that way. Was that why sometimes he would receive strange glances on the sidewalks? With his current hairstyle covering his Vulcan features, people did not know that perhaps he just preferred warmer temperatures. To them, Spock was another human. To them, he should be comfortable in a plain T-shirt and light pants; maybe even shorts. But instead, he was walking around like the next blizzard was well on its way to New York City.

But they didn't realize that, to Spock, without his coat it _did_ feel like he was in the middle of a blizzard. "That is illogical, as I am not harboring weaponry underneath my clothing," Spock replied quietly, as if unsure of himself.

Harold snorted. "Yeah, I don't think you are either, Spock. I mean, you're a Vulcan for fuck's sake. But people don't know that. And with your broody expressions, and that 'I hate myself' hair-do, you look like someone up to no good. That's all I'm saying. You're able to wear what you want. I'm just callin' it like I see it."

"I can assure you that I have no ill-intentions," Spock said curtly. While he might not be very favorable of his own appearance at the moment, he still didn't particularly care to hear someone else come to same conclusions. Especially when there were plenty of issues Harold could correct about his _own _appearance.

A surge of annoyance preceded Harold's next words. "Whatever man. Wear what the hell you want to. I'm just telling you that it looks weird, and kinda ridiculous. You look stupid."

Spock stiffened. "You have implied that by wearing this coat during the summer season, I am causing unease amongst the customers, and the fellow pedestrians in the street," Spock started, and chose to ignore the comment made toward his intelligence. He wasn't sure why he was continuing to argue about this. The human had all but dismissed him. Spock should be making his way to the hotel now to pack his things, Harold just a dark place in his mind, but he wasn't. Perhaps he was still insisting upon this discussion because every time he felt a surge of wariness of bemusement from someone in the street, he wondered if it was because people felt unsafe around him. How would he be able to stop himself from wondering now if they were only feeling such things because they believed him to be hiding something. Something that could possibly cause them harm? Also, did he want people to look at him and think he appeared ridiculous?

Harold sighed loudly and glared at Spock. "I can't make this any more clear." He paused and leaned his head in, his eyes hard and relentless. "I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck. Now get the hell out of here so I can do_ your _job while you get paid to do absolutely nothing," Harold finished icily, and Spock knew by the emotions along with the tone that that was the end of the discussion. Without another word, the Vulcan nodded his aching head, and walked out into the street. Speaking further would only encourage more emotional outbursts, and Spock had already had enough for one day.

He had only walked five feet though before pausing, considering, and taking off his coat, Harold's words just seconds ago proving too important to ignore. He wanted people to feel safe around him. Not wary. He wanted to _blend in_ with the people around him, not stand apart. And if that meant he had to sacrifice his coat during the summer months…then that was what he would do. He already had a hard enough time trying to fit in. What was logical about adding to that struggle?

Spock had barely brought the coat under his arms when the New York breeze blew right into him, making him shiver involuntarily. It was so cold in New York despite the summer air, and all Spock wanted to do was put his coat back on as hastily as possible. He felt unbelievably naked without it, exposed, and when he looked down at his fingernails, he noticed that they were already taking on a faint rust color; the equivalent of the blue tint that human blood took on before it came into contact with oxygen. Spock's blood being copper-based caused it to appear rusted however instead of blue. Despite it being colder than he would like, Spock hadn't expected that severe of a reaction. Yes he was cold, but he would never have imagined himself experiencing cold enough temperatures to cause Cyanosis to occur. Eighty degrees was cool, yes, but not severely cool. Spock should be able to handle it with only mild discomfort.

To Spock, it was just one more difference to add to the growing list of things that made him stand apart from the humans around him.

The wind picked up violently, making the Vulcan hug his coat closer to his midsection, his PADD safely tucked away inside. As he waded his way through the onslaught of bitter air, he couldn't help but attribute the Cyanosis to his lack of weight. It was quite simple; if he weighed more, his body would be able to regulate temperature at a more adequate level. He did not need Dr. McCoy around to inform him that by experiencing prolonged malnourishment, his body had taken to not only ridding itself of hair, muscle and fat, but had also taken to compromising his circulatory system. And as a result, heating the body had become that much harder.

Spock shuddered when he recalled what else poor blood circulation would affect, and that was cognitive functioning, which as far as he was concerned, was already compromised.

Such a thought only made the Vulcan move faster through the Manhattan streets toward the subway station. The quicker he moved into his new residence, the quicker he could settle down into a routine and thusly, begin to devote more energy to eating more appropriately and more frequently. Living with Rennan, Spock would have a kitchen with appliances. He would be able to prepare much healthier, substantial meals instead of relying on boxed, pre-made items from the grocery store.

Yes. Spock was sure that once he finally settled into a more permanent residence, he would see improvements in his weight, and consequently, everything else.

**((oOo))**

The subway had not been kind to Spock. It had been far colder down in the tunnels than up on the streets, and of course, the outpouring of emotion had never done him any favors, and this time had been no exception.

So, it came as no surprise that by the time the Vulcan found himself shuffling back inside of the hotel, his head was pounding viciously, he was lightheaded, and his body had taken on a slight shiver from the prolonged exposure to the cold.

Spock would like to say that he would warm up quick enough in his hotel room, but that would be a lie because soon enough he would find himself back out on the streets.

Feeling that he shouldn't worry himself about it since there was nothing he could do, Spock decided to go ahead and officially check himself out at the front desk and pay whatever remainder he owed on the room. Doing so would save him having to do it on the way out, when he would then have the entirety of his luggage with him. Completing such a task now would mean that the only thing he would have left to do would be to drop off his room key.

Given the fact that he had arrived back at the hotel quite early, when Spock turned toward the desk, he saw Garth there instead of Mr. Miller, who was usually the receptionist that greeted him at night when he walked in from work. Spock had no complaints about that. While he liked Mr. Miller well enough, Garth was someone that Spock would definitely appreciate saying farewell to.

"Mr. Sanders," Spock greeted and came to a halt right in front of where the human was seated.

Garth, who had been staring at his computer terminal, peered up, recognized him, and immediately took on a large smile. "Mr. Soran!" he greeted happily.

Spock blinked at the name, unsure as to why he had been called that.

_That is the alias you provided, why is that so difficult to remember? _He thought disdainfully to himself before replying. "It is pleasing to see you again," Spock said as amicably as possible. It was disquieting to once again forget something he had done. True he had remembered it moments later, but as a Vulcan, he should have remembered it immediately.

Well, he _had _forgotten worse things before.

"Yeah it is! I wondered if I might see you again…" Garth paused as if considering what he should say. "Uh, so I guess you got off work early? And on a Monday? That's pretty impressive…" he continued casually, and Spock could feel his genuine curiosity buzzing in the air. He was likely pondering why Spock had approached him at the front desk.

He wouldn't have to ponder long.

"You are correct. I did leave my workplace ahead of schedule," Spock admitted and decided to come right to the point. He needed every minute available to him. "I am checking out of my room today."

Garth frowned as if saddened, but Spock could detect no genuine despondent emotions. Perhaps that meant the human only _wished _him to believe he was saddened by his departure. "You're leaving us? So soon?"

Spock raised a brow. "I have stayed at this hotel for the past three months and five days," he said evenly. In his opinion, that was much too long to stay at a hotel. He should have been in his own place months ago.

Garth chuckled at his blunt statement. "Yeah, I know. You've been here forever, man. Did you finally find a place? Or are you returning somewhere?" the human let his question trail off, and Spock took this as a strategy for discerning more information about him.

He could see no viable reason not to be truthful yet again. "I have found an acceptable place to take up residence."

"Where's that?" Garth asked curiously.

Spock blinked. "It is…near here," he settled for, because he really did not wish for this human, while an amenable being so far, to know where he would be residing from here on out.

Garth exhibited a brief feeling of humbleness before nodding in understanding. "Hey I wouldn't want people knowing my personal business either. It's all good," he started before straightening up in his chair. "So, I take it you're here to settle up on the room?"

"If the term 'settle up' translates to paying the remainder of what is owed on the room, then you are correct," Spock answered and brought his credit chip around out of his back pocket for whenever the human requested it.

Garth chuckled again before busying himself at the terminal. "Okay, let's see here. Room 14A…" the human's eyes took on a glint of concentration as he riled through the information in front of him. "Ah, here we go," he announced with a smile. "Looks like you only owe for this weekend. Want me to process it same as last time? Digital receipt and all?" he finished while peering up at the Vulcan.

"Yes, please," Spock answered and handed over the credit chip. He was slightly amazed at the fact that Garth seemed to remember more about their encounter than he himself could remember given the fact that he knew Spock would want a digital receipt.

The whole process took as little as two minutes, and Spock couldn't help but feel relieved to finally be done with paying weekly payments to the hotel. Now…such payments would be monthly instead of weekly. That should make it easier to remember.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Sanders," Spock said gently as he took his credit chip and digital receipt back from the human.

"Hey, it's no problem. Just doing my job."

"In any case, your work ethic is appreciated," the Vulcan answered cordially before nodding politely and heading off toward his room. When he had first come to Earth upon joining Starfleet, Spock had never taken the time to thank someone for performing the variation of service that Garth Sanders had just provided; that Spock himself provided on a day to day basis. He had always assumed such things were effortless and required little cognitive skill. And, it _was_ their job, was it not? They _were_ being paid a fixed number of credits to do it, were they not? Why should that merit a show of appreciation?

That manner of thinking had changed though when Spock's circumstances had changed. He would never again underestimate the amount of time and effort it took to work in customer service. Never would he forget just how much skill or patience it often demanded. Especially when Garth Sanders could have easily been like his coworker, Harold. In light of those facts, Spock had wanted to make sure that Garth's polite and accommodating attitude had gone appreciated.

Spock had almost made it to the hallway when Garth's voice carried after him. "Take care of youself, Mr. Spock."

Spock instantly stiffened. How had the human come to learn his identity? _The most probable answer is that he discerned it while checking you out,_ he inwardly answered just as he turned back around.

He had expected Garth to be staring at him with indifference, or perhaps anger at being lied to about his identity, but instead, the human just smiled at him.

"Thank you, Mr. Sanders. I will endeavor to. I request that you do the same," Spock answered gently, and turned back around before the man's expression could change into what he had expected to begin with.

It wasn't until he got back to his room that he realized Garth had probably discovered his true identity the first time they had met. After all, he _had _accepted payment from Spock then as well, hadn't he? The entire time, Garth Sanders had probably known who he really was, but had gone along with his secret.

Why? Spock would likely never know.

**((oOo))**

Moving his things out of the hotel had proven more tedious than Spock had imagined. For one thing, instead of the two bags he had originally come to the hotel with, Spock knew half way through packing that he would need one more. The additional clothing items he had acquired during his three month stay had taken up more room than he had first estimated they would.

However, instead of going to the store on the corner and purchasing another bag, Spock elected to just wear a shirt or two over the one he already had on, and he had done the same with his pants. The entire process had actually been easier than he'd imagined given his skinny frame. It seemed that the extra clothing had fit readily over his torso and waist, and soon enough, the need for a third bag had diminished. Right before Spock had decided to leave though, he had examined himself in the mirror to make sure he did not appear _ridiculous _when he arrived at Rennan's. Surprisingly, the Vulcan had found that the extra layer of clothing made him look closer to how much he had originally weighed before staying on Atriri IV. For the the first time since that planet, Spock did not hate the mirror for what it gave back to him. As odd a sight as it was, aside from the thinner facial features, Spock had almost looked like his old self.

Not wishing to linger on such thoughts any longer lest he depress himself, Spock had grabbed his duffel bags from off of the floor, given his room one last glance, and had headed out toward the street. He had been hoping to see Garth again during his departure, but Mr. Miller had already taken over his shift. The human had spared him a wave, with which Spock had returned with a nod, and that had been that. His days at the hotel had come to an end.

The second tedious thing in _moving out_ had been the actual journey itself to Rennan's apartment complex.

Much like any journey Spock dared to make through the city, the entire way had been littered with emotion upon emotion, especially given the time of day.

However, this time had been different than any other time because of the two duffel bags in his hands. Much like on his first day in the city, Spock had been bumped into more numerously than he cared to count, and given the absence of body fat, each shove and push seemed to have been all the more detrimental.

Needless to say, when Spock _finally_ arrived at 805 Fairmount Place, he was tired, he was cold, his head was pounding, and now his body ached from the bumpy trek across the Bronx. Not only had he been forced to endure a slew of emotions on every street corner, but his luggage—which had never been that much of a problem before—had felt much heavier this time around.

That meant that his items had gotten heavier, or Spock had just gotten weaker as time had progressed in New York City. He really was not that surprised. He had been feeling weaker and weaker every day. Losing his Vulcan strength and stamina should have been an expected occurrence.

Wincing slightly due to the increasing severity of his migraine, Spock shuffled his way up the steps and inside the complex, hoping with every step that if he just _ignored_ the pain in his head, it would go away. He did not want his first day with his new roommate to be ruined because of his pathetic weaknesses. However, that was a false hope from the beginning, and Spock knew it as soon as the doors shut behind him, and the sudden onslaught of lightheadedness and disorientation forced him to drop his bags in order to find purchase on the wall.

Why could _nothing _ever go the way he had intended it to go?

Spock was breathing rapidly, his hand clutching the wall, when his nose started to bleed. And why, he thought through the pain, should it not? In fact, a nosebleed was the only ailment missing from this entire pathetic display of weaknesses that had become all too common in his life. It would have been bizarre for it _not_ to occur in all honesty.

On that thought, Spock couldn't help but become angry at himself. Had the journey been that difficult? Had it been so stressful as to encourage his blood pressure to rise to such an unbearable degree so that he would bleed out all over the floor? Could he really not even manage a simple trek across the city without breaking down completely?

When had life become such a struggle?

"Spock?" a familiar voice asked, making Spock stiffen on the wall he was leaning up against with dread, blood trailing down his face and onto the floor. Of course he would be seen like this.

"Mr. Morrison," Spock managed with difficulty, his face still looking toward the wall.

"I honestly wasn't expecting you so soon, but your timing couldn't be any more perfect! Just got back from grocery shop—," Rennan paused in his enthusiastic explanation, and Spock felt the proximity between them decrease rapidly, "are you okay?" Rennan finished in a concerned tone.

"I am…adequate, Mr. Morrison," Spock answered tightly just as his breathing started to pick up again. It seemed his 'episode' was not over.

"You sure don't look _adequate_. Here, let me help you," Rennan stated in a determined voice. Spock heard him place something on the ground and step closer to him. Unfortunately, the new angle provided Rennan a side view to his bloodied face. "Hey, do you know you're bleeding?" he asked in a slightly startled voice.

Spock took a deep breath and turned to face Rennan, not caring any longer about hiding his nosebleed. The human had already noticed it, so he saw no reason to go on concealing it. In fact, since they were living together, it would have only been a matter of time before he took notice of Spock's nosebleeds. Better to find out now than later, he supposed.

"I am aware. I apologize," Spock said and took in the grocery bags on the floor next to Rennan; various items sticking out of the top. He then ran his tongue over his teeth in distaste given the blood that had started to gather there. Spock hated how talking invited the blood to come into his mouth. He hated the taste of blood.

Rennan frowned and shook his head. "Don't apologize, Spock. It's not like you can help nosebleeds. Here, let me get you something for that," he announced, and leaned down to rummage through one of the grocery bags. A few seconds later he emerged with some sort of cleansing wipe which he then handed over for Spock to take. "Picked up some cleaning stuff. This isn't the best thing to use, but anything better is up in the apartment. I'm pretty sure you can use that on your face, though," he finished just as the Vulcan took the wipe.

"Your assistance is appreciated," Spock managed weakly and brought the wipe up to his nose. He was humiliated to be seen like this, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"Don't mention it," Rennan answered and shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants, his arm muscles bulging from the tension. He peered off to the side for a moment before speaking again. "Listen, I'm gonna take these groceries up, and then I'll come back down and help you. You look kind of pale, and the turbolift went out of service again," he stated the last part with an air of irritation; and irritation that Spock mirrored.

_Of course it is out of service again,_ the Vulcan thought disdainfully to himself. Apparently, the turbolift at Fairmount Place was consistently unreliable. Perhaps when Spock had the time, he could examine it himself and repair it. That _was _his occupation, after all.

The fact that the turbolift was still out of service meant Spock would have to take the stairs, which was unfortunate given his last experience with them; an experience that would likely prove to be worse this time around given his high blood pressure.

Such glaring examples made Rennan's assistance seem all the more logical, especially given how weak he was still feeling. But if Rennan assisted him up the stairs, then he would see how weak getting up those stairs would likely make him. His new roommate had already witnessed his nose bleeding. As logical as accepting assistance was, Spock did not wish him to witness the difficulties he harbored in walking up to the eighth floor as well. He wanted Rennan to be confident in his choice for Spock as a roommate. Not doubtful of his abilities, which would logically lead to the human doubting his ability to pay his rent on time, or pay any of his other financial obligations on time.

"I thank you for your concern, but it is not needed. Please resume your prior activities, Mr. Morrison. I will be along shortly," Spock supplied as clearly and confidently as possible while trying to stand himself in as straight a position as he could muster. It was difficult, given the lingering migraine and lethargy, but he managed.

Rennan gave him a knowing look. "First thing, just call me Rennan, Spock. I seriously can't fathom spending the coming months being referred to as a 'Mr.' in my own apartment," Rennan started in amusement. "And secondly, I'm not saying you _need _my help, but I'm going to offer it anyway. I'll be right back. Don't break a leg getting up those stairs or anything," and with that, the human smiled at him, picked his grocery bags up off the floor, and headed toward the stairwell.

Spock stared after him, and for a moment, was hit with the sudden urge to call out after him. To tell him that, 'yes, he _did_ want assistance after all'. For a moment, his fear of appearing _weak_ and _pathetic_ just didn't matter. But the moment was over seconds later, and Spock wasn't even sure he'd felt it to begin with.

He had only managed to make it up to the second flight of stairs when Rennan reappeared, a small sense of determination radiating off of him. Briefly, Spock wondered if all of Rennan's emotions were expressed so diminutively, because so far, they had been.

"Here, I'll take these. You look kind of flushed," the human announced, and leaned down a second later to take Spock's bags from him.

Spock eyed the bag that contained his chessboard, and opened his mouth to assure Rennan that he _did not _need assistance. He was Vulcan. He could carry his own bags up the stairs, but before he could get a word out edge-wise, the human was speaking again.

"Seriously, Spock. I can handle this. I don't slave away in the gym for nothing, and this will be a nice warm up before I work out this afternoon," Rennan stated casually before frowning. "Plus, you really don't look like you're feeling well," he finished in a concerned tone.

"I am functional, Mr. Morr—_Rennan,_" Spock corrected himself just as Rennan narrowed his eyes at the _'Mr.'_. "I am capable of carrying my own luggage up the stairs," he added, and had every intention of taking his luggage back from his roommate who was standing there on the step above him with a smirk on his face.

However, despite his spoken assurances, Spock made no move to reclaim his luggage. The longer he stood there on the step just below Rennan, the more he relished the fact at not having to hold the heavy burden; a burden he had just carried across town, his body aching the entire way.

Just thinking about it spurred Spock to secretly admit how _nice _not having to take the heavy bags up the stairs. It would be nice to get a break from it.

Or…at least Spock was beginning to feel that way. He really could not deny that getting himself up the stairs was a trial all on its own. Having Rennan carry the added weight made that trial easier, did it not? Was it not logical to do what he could to keep his blood pressure down? Especially since his nose had only _just _stopped bleeding moments ago? Plus, if Spock didn't know any better, he could have sworn by the expression on the human's face that Rennan was actually enjoying the act of taking the bags up the stairs. Perhaps he viewed it as an added physical challenge in his obvious workout regime. Spock knew it was not a simple feat for Rennan to keep his arms at such a size without a challenging physical routine in place. Perhaps by permitting Rennan to carry the bags, Spock was actually aiding him in that regime.

Spock did his best to keep up with Rennan as the human all but jogged up the stairs, the two duffel bags in his hands appearing as if they were light as feathers. With arms that size, they probably were. Spock chose not to think about the fact that as a Vulcan, his bags _should _be light as feathers.

When they finally reached the eighth floor, despite breathing heavily, Spock did not feel as tired as he thought he would have. He was slightly fatigued, yes. But the sensation of wanting to drop to the floor and rest was absent, and remained absent all the way to Rennan's—no, Rennan and _Spock's_—apartment.

"Well, I guess we can go ahead and get you 'keyed' in. Put your hand on that panel there," Rennan instructed as he set Spock's bags down on the floor, and indicated to the wall panel just beside the door to the apartment.

Spock did so, and a moment later the panel began to blink red, signaling that Spock wasn't permitted inside. Rennan took over from there. He signaled for Spock to move his hand, and then brought up a digital screen just above the panel where he then punched in a series a numbers and ended it with his own hand resting on the panel. A second after that, the panel went from red to green and Spock heard the door unlock.

Rennan however locked it again. "Here, put your hand back on it. I want to make sure it's got you in there correctly. These panels aren't the best."

Spock silently obliged, and was relieved when the panel blinked green instead of red, and the door unlocked. At least not every piece of electronic equipment at Fairmount was faulty.

"Awesome," Rennan commented in satisfaction, and leaned down to get Spock's bags.

Spock however, beat him to it. "I am able to carry these inside, Rennan. Thank you for your assistance in bringing them up the stairs," he inferred as gently as possible, and was ashamed at how hard it had been not to call him 'Mr. Morrison'. Spock hated how awkward using a simple first name was. In the past four months on Earth, he had grown so accustomed to referring to everyone by their surname, save Harold, and apparently, it was habit he would have slight difficulty in breaking.

Rennan eyed the bags with an unnamed expression before smiling and waving Spock forward. "Sure thing!" he stated jubilantly and followed the Vulcan inside. When they got to the living room, Rennan headed off toward the kitchen. "I hope it's warm enough in here for you. I took the liberty of turning the heat up when I brought the groceries in earlier," he shouted from the kitchen where Spock assumed he was putting away said groceries. He had likely not had the time to do so since he had to come back down and help Spock.

"I find the temperature quite adequate," Spock answered loudly as he walked through the living room and toward the room they had agreed would be his room for the duration of his stay. If he was being honest, Spock would have preferred it to be even warmer, but he wasn't about to complain. He knew that humans could only stand so much heat. Both Jim and Dr. McCoy had complained on numerous occasions about the temperature of his private quarters on board the Enterprise and how it had always been too warm to inhabit on a long term basis.

Just as Spock walked inside his new room, Rennan shouted again from the kitchen. "Hey, while you're unpacking, I'll make us an early dinner. I know you said you work nights at that software company, so this will be one less thing you have to worry about."

Spock turned and blinked in the direction of the kitchen. He was not accustomed to having his dinner prepared for him unless he had paid for it. It was not unwelcomed, just…unexpected.

"You're vegetarian, right?" Rennan shouted again, bringing Spock out of his musings.

"Affirmative," Spock shouted back out of instinct, but was already making his way to the kitchen. When he got there, he saw an assortment of vegetables out on the counter.

Rennan looked up at him and smiled. "I thought so, but I wanted to make sure," he went on and focused in on the head of asparagus he'd set to washing.

"I would not ask you to inconvenience yourself by preparing my meal, Rennan. I am quite—," Spock started to say, but was interrupted.

"Yeah, yeah, you're _quite capable_ of doing it yourself. I know," Rennan paused and gave him an exasperated look. Strangely enough though, Spock felt no exasperation from him. "I'm doing this to be nice so you don't have to rush through unpacking. I have to eat anyway, so it's really not a bother," he finished and snapped the ends off of the asparagus spears before spreading them out on a pan.

"Do you require assistance?" Spock offered and blushed at the knowing glance that Rennan supplied him with.

"Go unpack, Spock," the human said firmly, but gently.

Usually Spock would have argued the matter further. It was not just the fact that he was not used to people doing things for him when he was quite capable of doing them himself, but he also would have preferred making his own meal. Rennan did not know which food items Spock preferred, or which ones did not agree with him, and the Vulcan felt that he should argue this fact.

Yet, he did not argue. He just didn't _feel _up to an argument. Perhaps it was because he was so tired. Today had not been easy to endure. Instead, Spock nodded, thanked the human for taking the time do such a thing, and walked back to his room to unpack.

It did not take Spock very long to unpack his possessions, and there was more than enough space to accommodate what little of them he owned. He had just placed the last item, Jim's chessboard, in the closet when the smell of baking food floated into the room and invaded his senses. Despite not being hungry, Spock could not deny how delicious the food smelled to him. The only time Spock got the chance to smell food being prepared was when he passed the restaurants on the street. Everything he ate was usually already made, and did not particularly have a fresh, pleasant smell.

Therefore, it was no surprise when Spock's stomach rumbled. His appetite, it seemed, had decided to make an appearance; the temptation proving too great.

"Hey! Dinner's ready!" Rennan shouted from the kitchen, making Spock jump slightly. He was unused to sharing a living space with another individual, and as a result the human's voice sounding so loudly and clearly from the kitchen had taken him by surprise.

"I will be there shortly," Spock yelled back after he gathered himself. He then shut his door softly and frowned when he noted there were no locking mechanisms. However, that didn't change the fact that he needed to change.

Knowing there was no lock; Spock reverted to his habit of changing in a tight closed space, and went into his closet. Quickly he worked his way out of the layers of clothing he'd donned on the way over, and dressed himself in the attire he would wear tonight when he traveled to the chain of business offices in Manhattan to update the software there. The shirt he chose was a simple, maroon colored long-sleeved one with black slacks. It was probably the nicest thing he owned by way of clothing. (Spock stopped counting the meditation robe long ago) Why he chose this particular outfit he wasn't sure. Maybe he just wanted to do as Jim would have done, and make a _good _impression on Rennan by appearing well-dressed and thusly, productive.

When Spock came into the kitchen, Rennan was setting out plates and utensils at the dining table they had sat at the week prior. He looked up, "Do you want wa—," he paused at Spock's appearance, and looked him up and down. "I have to say, you wear that color a lot better than I do," Rennan finished appreciatively, his eyes seemingly growing just a tad darker.

Instantly Spock stiffened and brought his hands in front of himself, and a dreadful feeling took root in the pit of his stomach. He did not wish to wear any color better than anyone else, and he definitely did not like it when a color made him stand out, or when a color made someone look at him the way Rennan was looking at him now. He did not want to stand out. He wanted to blend in, and most of all, he didn't want Rennan to look at him like that. No one should look at him like that. Such looks were dangerous, and Spock could not help but feel fearful and confused. He had not felt any lustful feelings from the human, so where was this look coming from, and more importantly, what was he supposed to do now? Should he leave? Should he say that this was a mistake? That he shouldn't have made such a hasty decision? Where would he go? Who would he live wi…

"I could never wear maroon," Rennan said and averted his gaze back down to the table. "Someone told me once that it makes me look like a vampire, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean," he went on casually just as he set the last fork down, completely oblivious to Spock's inner turmoil.

An inner turmoil that oddly enough, seemed to be resolving itself with every passing thought in the Vulcan's mind.

Spock suddenly felt stupid. Rennan had not been making suggestive comments toward him and he felt like a paranoid fool for assuming such a thing. His roommate had merely been giving an opinion that Spock wore the color 'maroon' better than himself. That was all. There was no danger. An opinion did not immediately mean danger was about to befall him.

And that was what Spock told himself as he came into the kitchen and placed his hands on the back of the chair so that they would not linger in front of his body, embarrassing him with their impulsive need to cover and protect it. His fear and hesitation was already disappearing just as quickly as it had managed to come, and he congratulated himself on the fact that he was able to rid himself of such illogical emotions before they had managed to sway him into doing something costly—like leave the apartment. Where would he have gone? What would he have done with his things? He had already paid Rennan the first month's rent yesterday afternoon when he had come over to sign the lease. Sure he could have requested it be given back to him, but what if Rennan had said no? Spock really could not afford a legal battle at this juncture in his life.

"So, did you want water? Or…did you have a specific preference?" the human asked him as he turned back to retrieve what Spock assumed would be glasses to drink out of.

Spock cleared his throat. "Water will be sufficient," he answered quietly. "Do you require assistance?" he furthered politely.

Rennan chuckled while he filled two glasses up with water. "No thanks. I've got it. Why don't you go ahead and take a seat?"

"Very well," Spock stated simply, pulled the chair out, and gingerly sat down. There was no food on the table yet, so he assumed Rennan had yet to bring it over.

"You okay with pepper?" Rennan asked him as he sat a glass of water in front of Spock.

Spock nodded. "I am."

"Okay good. I forgot to ask you earlier," Rennan answered in a relieved tone, walked back over to the counter and grabbed two plates from out of the kitchen's heating unit. "I made roasted asparagus and mushrooms. Seemed pretty vegan safe. Hope you like it," he finished eagerly and sat Spock's plate down in front of him.

Spock glanced at Rennan's plate and noted what looked like a chicken breast.

Rennan followed his gaze and suddenly appeared abashed. "Oh. Sorry. I don't do the vegan thing. I tried, but with an appetite like mine, meat is kind of a requirement," he laughed uneasily and stirred his asparagus and mushrooms around with his fork before frowning, "this won't be…a problem, will it?" he asked.

Spock shook his head. "Negative. I am more than able to be in the presence of meat." _Except for rare meat, _went unsaid. "I just do not consume it. You need not apologize," he assured the human and picked up his own fork wherein he proceeded to stab at an asparagus spear. He would never expect another to alter their eating habits merely for his comfort.

Rennan sighed in relief. "Phew, for a moment there I was freaking out."

Spock's eyebrow rose. If Rennan was indeed freaking out, he hadn't been able to pick up on it. Instead of commenting on it, he chose to take a tentative bite of his asparagus. Rennan, it appeared, had halted his own eating process to watch. The spear was crunchy, but not too crunchy, and Spock remarkably enough found it quite palatable. Delicious even.

"Well?" Rennan probed, his body leaning forward just a bit.

Spock chewed the spear quickly and swallowed. "The taste is exquisite. You have skill in the culinary arts," he answered in what he hoped was an amicable tone. It wasn't a lie. The dish _was _extremely good. Or, perhaps Spock had just gotten so used to eating less than palatable food sources that the first item he managed to eat that wasn't already premade was far better than it actually was.

In either case, Spock was grateful to Rennan for making it. "I must extend my gratitude to you, Rennan. You did not have to prepare this meal. It is appreciated," he chose to say after taking another bite, this time of the mushroom which turned out to be just as good.

"Seriously, Spock. It's not a problem. I like cooking. I've got a replicator here, but it's just not the same. You living here just gives me an excuse to cook more," Rennan explained with a smile, and set to work on the chicken breast.

Spock frowned at that. Rennan had just purchased groceries today. Groceries he intended on utilizing for both himself, and Spock. Groceries that Spock had not paid for. "How much did you spend at the grocery store today?" he asked a moment later.

Rennan frowned. "Why?" he asked bluntly, and for a moment, Spock was thrown by the tone. He had not intended to come off impolitely. A slight feeling of uncertainty filtered into him, only confirming his fears that he had indeed offended the human, or at least confused him.

"I apologize for offending you. I merely inquired because I would prefer that you permit me to pay for half of them, as per our agreement," Spock explained, and straightened in his chair.

Rennan blinked a couple of times before laughing and waving his hand dismissively. "Oh, don't worry about it. I've got them this time. Consider it a moving in present," he answered warmly, and took a sip of his water.

Spock straightened even more. Despite the headphones he had received from Wesley, he still did not particularly like accepting gifts, or, in this case, charity. "I must insist that you permit to pay for half of them."

Rennan's lips thinned slightly. "Spock. I really didn't even buy that much. We'll end up having to buy more next Sunday. You can contribute your half then," the human stated, and Spock got the sudden feeling that that was the end of it.

"As you wish," he said softly, and focused all of his attention on his plate. He really should argue more. Insist on paying the human for the groceries. Gifts always came with a price, didn't they?

_Wesley has not asked you for anything, has he?_ Spock asked himself a moment later, and took comfort in the fact that no, Wesley hadn't asked him for anything.

"So, did you get all your stuff unpacked?" Rennan questioned in an attempt to move on to another subject.

"Affirmative."

"Well that was fast," he commented and paused to consider something. "Then again, you didn't really have that much with you to begin with. Two bags isn't a lot."

Spock could have commented that Vulcans were not materialistic, and that that was why he did not have many possessions. Instead he remained silent. It would not have been a lie, but it wouldn't have been entirely true either.

"I take it the room is good?" Rennan probed at Spock's silence.

Spock, who had been eyeing a mushroom on his plate, looked up at that. "If I may, would it be possible to place a locking mechanism on the door to my bedroom?" he asked tentatively. He did not want to be an inconvenience, but he also did not look forward to the prospect of sleeping in a room that would be open to Rennan at any time. He wanted the choice to lock his door, and Spock chastised himself for not checking his door prior to moving in.

"You want a lock on your door?" Rennan asked as if he hadn't quite understood Spock.

"Affirmative," he answered, not sure of how else he who should phrase his query. Was it not clear enough?

Rennan frowned, much to Spock's confusion. "I don't see why you would need one…"

"It is a personal preference," Spock cut in firmly, and wondered why this was becoming an issue. Locks were nothing out of the ordinary.

"Well, I have to get it approved. I can't make custom changes on anything in the apartment without it," Rennan pointed out in what Spock deduced was a brisk tone. However, the customary irritation that usually went along with such a tone was not there, and he wasn't sure what to think about that.

"I understand," Spock answered and glanced back down at his plate. He did understand, but it would not help him tonight when he arrived home from work. His _understanding_ would not give him the measure of security that only a lock could provide.

Rennan gave him a calculating look, which bemused the Vulcan. "It shouldn't take that long though. I'll give the landlord a comm in the morning before I go to work," Rennan supplied in a much brighter tone, and strangely, despite the previous expression on the human's face, Spock felt reassured by it. He could endure one night without a lock.

"I would appreciate that, and I would of course pay for any locking mechanism that is approved," Spock added quickly.

Rennan smiled, but Spock was not sure his smile reached his eyes. He had seen Jim exhibit smiles like that during his last two weeks aboard the Enterprise. Smiles that were not really smiles. However, if his memory served him correctly, Spock remembered Jim's smiles being slightly more despondent. But then again, his memory could be faulty. Despite the questionable expression on Rennan's face, the only emotions Spock was able to discern from the human was mild hums of contentedness and relaxation. Not resentment or annoyance, or pain and sadness. They were feelings Spock had rarely felt in the others around him.

"It's not a problem. I should know something by tomorrow afternoon," Rennan supplied easily and set to finishing his meal.

Spock elected to consume the rest of his meal in silence.

When the meal was over and Rennan began to take the dishes away, Spock decided to provide his assistance regardless of whether or not the human wanted it.

"Really, Spock. I got this," the human argued with a laugh, but the Vulcan ignored him. He did not need to be cleaned up after, and he wanted to show Rennan that he was quite capable of maintaining and hygienic and ordered atmosphere.

"I insist that you permit to assist you. I have thirty-two standards minutes until I must depart for work. That is more than enough time to prepare myself, and my belongings have already been unpacked. Therefore, I wish to help," Spock argued back, and halfway expected Rennan to still insist upon cleaning the kitchen in solitude. No such argument came.

Instead, Rennan sighed lightly, nodded to him, and set to clearing the rest of the table while Spock brought the remainder of the roasted asparagus and mushrooms over to the counter. He wasn't sure what Rennan utilized for storing what was left over of the food, and when he turned to ask, Rennan was handing him a stack of plates and used utensils. "Here, you can put these in the sonic cleanser," Rennan suggested and then indicated to the cleaning unit just beside the sink. "Just…don't use the 'heavy' setting. That's never worked very good," he added as an afterthought and walked over to the bowl of food that Spock had just vacated.

When the kitchen had been sufficiently cleaned, Rennan thanked him for his help, and walked into the living room where he sat upon the dark grey couch, and pulled a holo-top computer device into his lap. He sighed in irritation, and stretched his arms up above his head before bringing them down in exasperation. "Ugh, I hate setting up meetings…" Rennan complained and set to keying in things on the devices' screens.

His curiosity heightened, Spock followed Rennan all the way into the living room and sat himself down in the chair across from him. He still had twenty minutes to spare before he had to leave, and he felt it would be a logical pursuit to attempt to find out more about his new roommate. Once Spock had situated himself in the chair Rennan peered up at him from the holo-top. Most likely wondering what Spock was doing.

Feeling oddly exposed under the human's stare, Spock grabbed the red pillow that was also in the chair and set it in front of him. Rennan's stare shifted into amusement at the gesture, but he didn't comment. Instead, he focused back in on the holo-top's screen. "Don't you have to leave for work?" he asked a second later, his eyes never leaving the screen.

Spock squeezed the pillow briefly in his hands. "I do, but I still have eighteen point two minutes before I must depart," he answered gently, and briefly wondered if Rennan felt like he was imposing, and his query had actually been a hint of sorts for Spock to move onto something else. It would not have been the first time a human had made such a hint. Perhaps Rennan had come into the living room to garner some individual time for himself? Perhaps Spock's presence was unwelcome. "Would you prefer to be left alone?" he decided to ask.

Rennan blinked in surprise and looked back up at him. "What? Oh—no, you're fine, Spock. The living room is an open space," he started loudly and indicated an irritated hand to his holo-top screen. "I'm just doing some networking before I meet up with the guys at the gym. I'm trying to set up my Friday conference, but the clinic I'm supposed to go to is giving me a hard time. This clinic _always _does this," he explained in exasperation.

Spock wrinkled his brow. He had learned from Wesley that Rennan was employed by a pharmaceutical company. Now, the Vulcan decided, would be an adequate time to learn just what that position was, and which company he worked for. After all, Rennan knew both places that Spock was employed at.

"May I pose a query?" Spock asked, and wasn't aware how his fingers tightened over the pillow yet again.

Rennan laughed, much to Spock's confusion. "Spock," he started after the chuckling died down, "feel free to ask me anything you want. I won't bite," he finished with a Kirkian smirk. Only…it didn't have the effect that Jim's smirks had often had.

"Very well, Wesley informed me that you were employed by a pharmaceutical company. Which company, if I may, are you employed with? What is your function?" Spock came right out with it. If he didn't, the nervous energy gathering inside of him would make such questions harder to ask. Spock wasn't quite sure _why _he was so nervous around Rennan. It was not a dangerous sort of nervousness, but more of a fear of appearing inadequate sort of nervousness.

Spock could not really explain, so he tried not to think about it.

Rennan gave him a funny look. "You know, when I said, 'ask me anything', I didn't mean pull out every question in the book," he deadpanned and set the holo-top on the pillow next to him.

Spock felt his cheeks heat up in chagrin. "I apologize. I did not mean to cause offense," he offered quickly, and felt foolish for asking the questions in the first place.

Rennan waved him down tiredly. "I'm only kidding, Spock. Your questions didn't bother me," he explained and gave Spock an exasperated look. "Jeeze, you can take things so literally. It's fine though, it's kind of adorable, actually. I guess most Vulcans are like that…" Rennan added, his expression becoming thoughtful as he turned his head off to the side to gaze out of the apartment window.

Spock was grateful for that, because it meant that he didn't see the way Spock stiffened, or instantly paled. _'Oh that's adorable, Vulcan. Surely you know what I am about to do, what I wish to do'_

Spock swallowed as words uttered under _very _different circumstances came back and hit him as clearly as the day they had been uttered. Why was it that he was forgetting important, relevant things like payment due dates, names, and information he had given or obtained, but when it came to S'te—the _Priest_, Spock remembered everything so clearly?

Why did life function in that way?

"In answer to your _adorable _questions—,"

Spock looked down at the pillow in his lap when Rennan turned back to speak to him again, completely unaware that the Vulcan was silently willing his memories to go away. To let him have just _one _normal conversation with a person that was nothing like the Altririan.

But they would not. The Priest's words just kept coming and coming in monochrome sequence.

"I work for a pharmaceutical company name Cellucor. I'm actually a sales representative for them, or, more commonly known as a _drug rep_. I go around and…hey, are you okay?" Rennan halted midsentence to ask, his tone one of concern at Spock's obviously failed attempt conceal the inner battle he was waging within himself. The inner battle that always seemed to circle back to his failures on Altriri IV.

For a moment, Spock wasn't sure he would be able to answer. Not while the violent, sexual imagery played out again in his mind; imagery that he usually saw every time he went to sleep. However, just when he thought he was about to make a complete fool of himself, the imagery began to subside. His fear, his paranoia, it all seemed to be receding.

Receding just enough to answer Rennan's concerned query. "I apologize. It is likely that what ailed me earlier has not completely run its' course through my system," Spock halfway lied, because while he didn't think he was suffering from hypertension again, the episodes were related to Altriri IV, were they not?

"Do you need some water or something?" Rennan asked and shifted forward on the couch, seemingly to get up if Spock needed him to.

Spock quickly shook his head. "Negative. I believe the sensation has passed. Please, continue. I apologize for the interruption," he explained as confidently as possible, and straightened himself up from the hunched over position he'd taken on in the midst of his inward panicking.

"You sure?" Rennan speculated, but was already relaxing back onto the couch.

"I am quite certain," Spock answered immediately. He was never one for repeated reassurances. He wished humans would believe him the first time he sought to reassure them. It was not as if Rennan knew how capable of lying he was.

A mild wave of disbelief mixed with concern came from Rennan, but oddly enough, Spock felt no pain as a result. He merely _felt _the emotions, and that was all. He could compare the sensation to the simple act of hearing a sound, or seeing an object of interest.

"Well, as long as you're sure. Just let me know if it hits you again," the human informed him.

"I shall do so," Spock lied. He had no intention of doing so.

Rennan smiled and clapped his hands down on his thighs in a way oddly reminiscent of Wesley, and for the first time since Spock had met Rennan, he could see how they might be friends. "So anyway, I'm a drug rep, and I basically have to go around to different health care facilities, pharmacies, nursing homes, vet clinics, you name it, and I sell Cellucor's products. When I'm not selling or pushing a specific drug, I'm going around to these same places and educating them on or advising them of changes to a formula with one of the drugs we distribute. It's a bitch sometimes because drugs are always changing, whether it's because something new comes out, or a virus mutates and the chosen drug no longer battles it effectively, and unfortunately, the meetings sometimes come in waves, or take me out of town," Rennan explained breathlessly, and in a frustrated tone while he indicated to his holo-top. "Such is the case right now with this new product my company wants to start distributing. A new pain medication. They want to set up a conference in Maryland to go over it. A conference I would have to leave for on Thursday morning, which is fine, but I fucking _hate _Maryland," Rennan finished with a lengthy sigh, and roll of his eyes.

"Your occupation is most intriguing, though it is unfortunate that you must play host to a location that you dislike," Spock answered, and he really could sympathize about that. Rennan's opinion of Maryland seemed to mirror Spock's own opinion of New York City.

Rennan shrugged. "Oh well, it pays the bills at least. Plus, I'm sure being on a starship meant you had to visit places you didn't like. We all have to do it, I guess. I really shouldn't complain."

Spock stiffened, blinked, and stared at Rennan who started to frown at his drastic shift in facial expression. That was all the Vulcan needed to see to remember that there was no way Rennan could know about Altriri IV, the _one _place that overshadowed all others in the category of 'places he had not liked', and thusly could not have meant anything by it.

Spock masked his expression moments later, cleared his throat and said, "indeed."

Rennan raised an eyebrow at Spock's blunt dismissal. "There's a story there. I can tell," he stated knowingly.

"Negative. I do not tell _'stories'_. I state facts," Spock answered a bit thinly. This wasn't an available topic for discussion, and he wanted Rennan to know that.

"Everyone has got a story to tell, Spock. Even Vulcans…" Rennan answered in a matter of fact tone.

Spock suddenly felt that it was time to prepare himself for work. He did not feel like undergoing a series of questions regarding his former occupation, and it most definitely was _not _because he feared he might just let something slip. "I thank you for sharing with me information about your occupation. However, I must excuse myself to prepare for the evening," Spock stated simply and fluidly rose from the chair.

Rennan opened his mouth to say something, but shut it a second later. Spock had managed to make it all the way over to hallway before realizing that he still held the red pillow in his hands. Blushing, he turned back around, walked back over to the chair, and set it down as neatly as possible. Rennan watched him, his gaze thoughtful and intense, but stayed silent.

He didn't say another word as Spock disappeared down the hallway.

After making quick work of combing through his hair, and promptly ignoring the strands that fell out as a result, Spock smoothed his shirt out, brushed his teeth, and walked back into his room to grab his PADD and the necessary accessories he always brought along with him when he updated software for Global X Solutions. He had just started back toward his closet to get his winter coat when he remembered Harold's comments from earlier that day, and as a result, decided that he would _not_ take the coat this time. He didn't need it. He could function without it.

Instead, Spock grabbed the small satchel that had come with the PADD, placed his work tools inside it, and headed toward the living room. He felt awkward leaving his possessions unguarded, and completely at the whims of another man. If Rennan wished to, he could journey back into Spock's room as soon as the Vulcan left, and do anything he pleased with his items. The errant memory of S'teth bending over Spock's blue science tunic, and breathing in the scent of it, cascaded across his mind and made him shiver. Thinking about such memories did nothing to quell the uneasiness at leaving his things unattended.

However, when Spock finally arrived in the living room and glanced at Rennan who was speedily typing away on his holo-top, the uneasiness seemed to fade away. He did not know if Rennan would venture into his room or not while he was gone, but there was a part of him that believed such a thing would not come to pass. He felt strangely trusting of Rennan's intentions, and he wasn't sure why.

"I should should return no later than 0100 hours," Spock announced as he made his way to the door.

Rennan paused and looked up at him. "I might be up, but I can't make any promises. Early meeting tomorrow morning," he answered. "Have a good night at work," Rennan furthered with a genuine smile, and again Spock felt a wave a trust for the human. Such things should be slightly alarming, for Spock did not trust readily.

But…perhaps his mind was pushing him to trust more as a means to help him adapt to this new living situation. He honestly wasn't sure, but until Rennan gave him reason to distrust him, he would not worry about it. He already had too much to worry about as it was.

**((oOo)) **

"How's life at Rennan's?" Wesley asked him casually from his seat behind the desk in his office where Spock had just brought back a work order for him to look over and give his signature of approval. There was a requirement to obtain approval to repair any items that had been recalled in the past six months. The item in question, which was sitting at the front of the store behind the desk, belonged to a customer who had come in earlier that morning. A customer who would be expecting his item—a portable air car charger—to be repaired and fully functional upon his return that afternoon near closing. Spock could not make such a thing happen though until the work order was signed off on.

"It is adequate," Spock answered stiffly, his head panging as he did so. He hadn't meant to sound so short, but the more he talked, the more his head hurt from the mere vibration of his voice. It seemed that whenever he was not at his apartment, Spock's migraine throbbed painfully on a near constant basis. The only time he seemed to find relief from it was back at his apartment.

His apartment had become his only source of peace, it seemed. Perhaps that was because it had only been when Spock returned home that his migraines would slowly diminish despite the presence of another individual in the dwelling; an individual that Spock had slowly started to consider more as a friend than a roommate with each passing day. An individual that throughout the duration of his stay, had remained a remarkably emotionally quiet person, a person that Spock could stand to be around without having the unwanted effects of emotional exposure.

Given those facts, the Vulcan had even started to trust Rennan.

Perhaps he had put so much trust into Rennan because the human had put a lock on his door on the fourth day as soon as the approval came in to do it. He had even—despite Spock's adamant protest—used his own credits to do so. And since that moment, it seemed to Spock that ever since he had obtained the ability to lock his room, feelings of anxiety or fear slowly started to dwindle down into low hums at the back of his mind. They were there, but not nearly as strong as they once had been. After all, if Rennan were truly a malicious person with ill intentions, would he have permitted Spock to put locks on the doors? That was the logic Spock used in convincing himself that the quick trust he had placed in his human roommate had been wholly justified.

From behind the desk, Wesley frowned, but didn't comment on Spock's brisk tone. "You've been there what—almost three and a half weeks now? Pretty much a month? I talked to Rennan two days ago at the gym. He said you guys are getting along famously. That's real good, Spock."

"That is correct, though I would not utilize such illogical terms. There is nothing _famous _about our relationship." Wesley winced at his abrupt dismissal of the chosen terminology, but remained quiet. "Would you please sign off on this work order, Mr. Crawford," Spock went on tightly, which earned him another frown, this one loaded with standoffish feelings. Spock could not help his tone though. Despite his strange but amicable feelings toward Rennan, he did not particularly care for sharing his personal life with his manager. Having to take on a roommate, Spock wished to keep whatever life he had as private as possible. Perhaps it was because Vulcans were not particularly suited to having roommates that were not related by blood, or were not a bondmate. Conceivably because of that, Spock had come to value any privacy he was capable of obtaining for himself, despite the fact that around Rennan, privacy seemed to not matter much.

"You know, he refers to you as 'Soran'. You want to explain that?" Wesley asked him suspiciously as he thumbed through the work order, and signed off on it. There was an air of irritation surrounding Rennan that had not been there moments ago.

Spock stiffened and pursed his lips. "I do not," he answered in a tone that meant it would not be argued further. Inwardly though, he was relieved that Rennan was staying true to his word, for Spock had asked him nearly three weeks ago to refrain from informing his friends and acquaintances of his identity, lest it bring them both attention that they did not want or desire.

Spock remembered that conversation clearly.

"_What should I call you in front of them, then? It's fine, but you know I'll have them over sooner or later for drinks," Rennan asked him as they both wandered down the vegetable aisle of the grocery store a block away from their apartment complex, endeavoring to purchase food items for the coming week. _

"_You may refer to me as Soran. I do not wish my true identity to become common knowledge. There is a high probability that it will create unnecessary attention, and as you can discern from my chosen hair style, and manner of dress, I do not wish to be easily recognizable as a Vulcan, much less the half-Vulcan, Spock," Spock answered as logically as possible, and was momentarily surprised at how easy it was to admit such a thing. _

_Fortunately, it wasn't that difficult to convince Rennan, who was already nodding to himself. "I'm sensing another story behind that," he started just as he placed a few potatoes into the basket. _

_Spock frowned from his place beside the basket, his hands firmly clasped behind his back. "I have stated before that there is no story…" the Vulcan started, but was already being waved down by Rennan. _

"_But I won't press you about it. You can keep your __**stories **__until you feel like sharing them, and I'll tell my friend's that your name is Soran, but I'm still calling you Spock. So…know that," Rennan finished firmly, and set a head of lettuce inside the basket alongside the potatoes. Spock hadn't added anything for himself yet. Any food items he picked out barely made up a third of the purchased items, and they had not come to the part of the store that housed the items he might want. In fact, Spock wasn't sure he needed anything at all aside from the vegetables Rennan was placing in the basket. Vegetables that he would have purchased with or without Spock. _

That had been three weeks ago.

And since that time, Spock had taken to pondering why he accompanied Rennan in the first place. He did not need to visit the store on a weekly basis unlike his roommate. However, the human had insisted on grocery shopping together the past four times, and while Spock did not eat nearly as much food as Rennan, they still had continued to split the bill down the middle on all four occasions. Spock had felt he should protest this, but had silently agreed to let the issue drop. Arguing with Rennan was often a pointless pursuit. There had even been one occasion where Spock told Rennan to just go without him; that he would provide him with credits to take in his stead. Rennan had just come back into town from a conference that Sunday morning, and the Vulcan's head had been pounding from the moment the he'd left. The last thing Spock had wanted to do was go out to the grocery store with it.

"Oh come on, Spock! You'll feel better once you get out of this dark and dreary room. Plus, grocery shopping is something you and I do together, you know?" Rennan had argued, and Spock had not made any arguments in return. For reasons unknown, Spock had come to find the idea of arguing with Rennan to be displeasing, so he took to avoiding it as much as possible.

Now, three weeks later, Spock had found that as long as he worked to keep his own personal issues to a minimum around his roommate, life with Rennan could be quite pleasant. Soothing, even.

Wesley, apparently did not think so, and the emotions he was exhibiting only supported that opinion. "Spock, I don't see why you're going by another name. You should be proud of who you are. I can't believe Rennan is okay with that. Plus…I don't know, I just feel you could run into problems with that," his manager stated with difficulty.

"With all due respect, Mr. Crawford, I must insist that you do not concern yourself with it. What Mr. Morrison and I decide upon in _our _apartment is only our concern. I have done nothing illegal. I am not utilizing the name to falsify records; I merely wish to not be known as 'Spock'. I have my own personal reasons for wishing to keep my name a private matter. I can only ask you to respect that decision," Spock explained as gently as possible. While he was growing more irritated by the second, Spock did not wish to be rude to Wesley. The man was still his superior, and still visited the apartment occasionally to participate in the tradition of imbibing alcohol with Rennan. It was a tradition Spock never participated in, though he had always been content to sit out in the living room with them while they did so, a simple glass of water in his hands.

Wesley sighed audibly and handed the work order back over to him. "Fine, Spock. I'll respect your decision. Just…" he paused and glanced over to the left as if trying to decide whether or not to say something. Spock sensed his hesitancy. "Just make sure it's your decision, and not Rennan's," he finished with an even gaze.

Spock raised an eyebrow underneath his long bangs. He knew a double meaning when he heard one. "If you would clarify?"

Wesley closed his eyes and rubbed at them before setting his gaze back on Spock. "Rennan's awesome. Don't get me wrong. But, he can be intense sometimes."

Spock felt Wesley's nervousness like a beacon in the dark. This was something he felt strongly about, that much was apparent.

"I still do not understand—,"

"I'm just _saying_ that Rennan can be overbearing sometimes. He's not dangerous or anything, but he's used to having his way, and while he's a nice guy, you're not the hardest person to take advantage of, Spock," he stated firmly before his eyes softened, "and while Rennan is my friend…I do think of you as a friend too," Wesley said lowly, but in the most sincere voice Spock had ever heard from him.

For a moment, Spock wasn't sure how to respond to that. He certainly didn't feel as if he were being taken advantage of, and this was really an issue to be concerned with, and Wesley really did think of Spock as a friend, why was he just now informing him of this? Was this not something one would inform a friend of _before_ said friend made the decision to move in with the person they were being warned about?

"If that is truly the way you perceive Rennan, why are you choosing this moment to enlighten me to such concerns?" Spock decided to ask, because he really wished to know. He wasn't sure why he was getting so defensive in regards to Rennan. Perhaps it was because for the first time he felt like he had found a place he could exist without constantly being afraid, or in pain, and as usual, he was being told that essentially, such a thing did not exist, and that he still needed to _watch his back_.

Perhaps Wesley was _jealous_ of Rennan and Spock's growing relationship. They were friends, were they not? Maybe Wesley had dismissed the idea of Spock actually having a friend, and had grown disappointed at how easily Rennan and he got along. Was it really such a fantastical assumption? After all, Spock was no stranger to Wesley's indifferent emotions whenever he had come to visit them at their apartment. He was no stranger to Wesley's awkward stares, or the minute frowns he would give to something Rennan would say. Wesley had just called Spock a friend, but was he?

Or was he just concerned with making sure he was Spock's _only _friend.

Wesley blinked at him in shock before shaking his head. "Look. Just _forget _it, Spock. Forget I said anything at all. I shouldn't even be saying anything anyway. It's not my place," the human commented with an air of exasperation and glanced down at his desk for something to busy his eyes with. He had apparently sensed that Spock was becoming upset by the rising tenor of his voice, which was embarrassing all on its own, because he should be able to conceal such expressions. A human child could hide their emotions better than Spock apparently was able to do.

Since he was no longer being observed, Spock took a moment to rub at his temple as if the added physical stimulation would ease his pain. His migraine was building in strength again, and he blamed it all on the conversation that had just taken place. He wanted the end of the night to arrive already so that he could go home and attempt to subdue it. That point was still far away though. It was Saturday, which meant that while he did not have another job to worry about, he still had to stay late because tonight was Inventory night. Spock's least favorite night of the month.

All he could really hope for was that by the time he arrived back at the apartment, he would be able to slip into an easy sleep, and by tomorrow morning when Rennan was due to arrive back from his conference, his migraine will have turned into a mere dull throb.

"Is that all you needed from me? To sign the work order?" Wesley finally said as he brought his head back up. Spock felt his anger just below the surface, and also feelings of anxiousness.

"Affirmative. Thank you, Mr. Crawford," Spock answered placidly, turned around, and walked out without another word.

After they had closed down, Wesley emerged from his office with the checklists in his hands. When he handed one to Harold, and the other to Spock, Harold let out a loud whine. Spock glanced down at the PADD containing his 'checklist', and immediately he understood the reasoning for his coworker's frustration. Wesley had given him the checklist containing the small products, which meant he'd given Spock the one containing the large items. The simpler one.

"What the hell, boss! You gave me the small list? You know how long that one takes me!" the large man complained, and Spock barely resisted the urge to ask him to cease complaining—much like Harold had done to him one month ago.

Wesley scowled at Harold, and Spock winced as the man's irritation flooded off of him. He had felt Wesley's irritation before, but this time it was oddly intense. "Yeah. I did. And you'll suck it up and count the shit on there, or I'm writing you up. Understand?" he snapped, his eyes boring holes into Harold's face.

"Boss, I—," Harold started, his own irritation bleeding through. Spock briefly closed his eyes from the onslaught of emotions. Living with Rennan had shown him just how 'loud' other humans could be by way of their emotions.

"I don't wanna hear it, Harold! I'm not your goddamn friend, I'm your boss, and you're going to start pulling your weight around here. The free ride is over," Wesley paused in his rant and stepped closer to Harold until his face was inches away. For a moment, Spock wondered if he would strike the man. "And if you've got a problem with that, you can go cry to your uncle about it, see if I give a shit," Wesley finished darkly, making Harold's eyes widen in shock.

On any other day, Spock would have gained some small satisfaction out of seeing Wesley finally taking action against Harold, but today he just couldn't. His head hurt too much, and there was too much anger floating throughout the room to properly gain satisfaction out of anything.

Looking completely flabbergasted, Harold took a step backward and refrained from speaking further. Instead the fat human looked down, and clenched his pudgy hands around the PADD he had just been given. He wanted to say something. That much was clear, but he refrained from doing so. Spock silently applauded his ability to know when it was smarter to say nothing at all. Wesley was unusually angry, and Spock had to wonder if it had anything to do with their prior conversation from earlier that day.

"Now, unless you two want to be here all night, I suggest you start on those lists, and Harold? None of that shit music tonight. I want to some peace and quiet in here." Wesley spared them both long looks before turning around, and retreating back to his office. Unfortunately, his anger was not so quick to disappear.

As soon as he was gone, Harold slammed his PADD down on the desk and glared at Spock. "I know you had something to do with this. I know you went and cried to Wesley. I fucking 'know' it," he accused darkly, his cheeks red with fury.

Spock straightened up and brought his PADD behind his back. "It is unclear to me why you are distressed, Mr. Harold. I see no reason why the allotment of tonight's duty's is a cause for concern," he stated impassively, feigning ignorance.

Harold snorted. "It's a cause for fucking concern because I'm not supposed to get this list, dammit!" he yelled.

"And yet you have received it. I see no logical reason why you are behaving so emotional in regards to that simple fact."

Harold slammed his hand down on the desk, his anger creating a sharp sting in Spock's mind. "DON'T—you fucking talk down to me you pointy-eared little shit. I had places to fucking BE tonight, and now I'm gonna be late because I'm doing the checklist that you're supposed to be doing!" he finished in a yell.

Spock stared at him, and despite his head screaming in agony, managed to keep his expression stoic and unfazed. "Then might I recommend you get started, Mr. Harold, if you plan on keeping your appointment."

He expected the human to come back with a profane reply, but instead, Harold marched passed him, bumped him in the shoulder in the process, and disappeared through the door, presumably to begin counting in the storage room.

Spock stared at the door a moment before bringing his PADD back out in front of him, powering it back on, and setting to work. The quicker he completed the checklist, the quicker he could leave and go home, and this time, he would get to leave before Harold.

After completing his checklist, Spock walked to Wesley's office and…hesitated outside the door. What if Wesley were still angry with him? As much as he told himself that he shouldn't care one way or the other, Spock couldn't deny that he did not wish for the human to be angry with him. Wesley had called him a friend earlier, and despite Spock's uncertainty regarding such a term, he did not wish to leave here tonight on bad terms.

"Come on in," Wesley called from inside a moment after Spock announced himself.

"Mr. Crawford, I have the completed checklist for June's Inventory," Spock stated gently, forced himself to close the door, and walked toward his manager's desk. He held out the PADD for Wesley take, and was relieved when he couldn't sense any of the anger from earlier. In fact, what he did sense was hesitation.

"Thanks, Spock," he said as he took the PADD. He smiled down at it and then peered back up at Spock. "Is it in alphabetical order again?" he asked, and Spock didn't miss the amusement in his voice, but that amusement did not reach his emotions. In fact, all Spock could really feel behind the words was a platonic affection.

"Affirmative, Mr. Crawford, and I wish to extend my gratitude as well for permitting me to complete the large item checklist this evening. I am aware that that is not the routine," Spock spoke in what he hoped was a grateful tone. He wanted to make sure Wesley knew that he appreciated being given the simpler checklist as opposed to the one he usually was bestowed with. Especially since it meant Wesley would likely be required to stay later given that Harold was still out in the store counting products.

For unknown reasons, a surge of guilt flashed within Wesley before it was masked by appreciation. "No reason to thank me, Spock. You deserved to get the easier checklist for once. And…" Wesley paused and looked down to fidget with his hands. Spock felt his nervousness when he looked back up at him. "I want to apologize, for earlier. It's not my business what you and Rennan do in your free time. He's your roommate. Not mine. And I didn't mean to imply that he was a bad guy or anything, or make him look bad, because he's really not," Wesley finished with a blush.

Spock could sense a hesitance in his manager's words, and if he knew more about human social interaction, perhaps he would have picked up on the lack of sincerity in the man's attempted assurances. However, he did not. His migraine was making it difficult to sense _any_ underlying meanings at the moment.

"There is no need to apologize, Mr. Crawford. I did not take offense. I…" Spock paused and pondered how to word what he wished to say. "I _appreciate_ your advice in any case, and should not have reacted how I did. You have my gratitude," Spock settled for, and relaxed a bit when Wesley abandoned his rigid posture and his nervousness started to dissipate at a rapid pace. Spock was slightly confused by that. He did not understand why his emotional state mattered to such an extent as to encourage nervousness. Especially when his emotional state was not causing any problems.

Or…had Wesley assumed that it would?

Spock felt a slight chill at that thought. Perhaps Wesley thought Spock's efficiency might drop as a result of growing so emotional earlier. After all, hadn't he been told by his own father at various points in his life that he too often permitted his emotions to rule him? Perhaps his manager had assumed the same thing in this case? Perhaps he had been worrying since their argument, that Spock would _not_ perform his job duties to an acceptable degree in light of his own emotional state clouding his judgment. Maybe _that_ was why Wesley had given him the easier checklist in the first place? Perhaps that was why Wesley had been nervous, and now was not because Spock had managed to regain his composure.

After all, what would Spock be worth as an employee if his efficiency dropped lower than it already was? Had that not been a cause for concern on the Enterprise? Had that not been the sole reason he left? His inefficiencies? Had—,

"Your reaction was pretty merited, Spock. Most people don't like having their personal lives picked apart," Wesley countered casually, his voice interrupting Spock's chaotic thoughts. "Now…go on and get out of here. I think this is the first time ever you've managed to get out of here before nine. Let's not screw that up," the man went on with a laugh.

Spock wondered briefly if Wesley just wanted him out of his presence despite not feeling any annoyance emanating from the man. In any case though, the Vulcan didn't need to be told twice. Spock had wanted nothing more all day than to go home and rest his aching head, and now that moment had come. Finally.

"I bid you a good night, Mr. Crawford," Spock stated in monotone, despite his growing eagerness at the prospect of walking out of the front door.

"Good night, Spock. See ya' Monday."

When Spock arrived in the front room with the intention of acquiring his satchel from behind the desk, he was met with the sight of a struggling Harold attempting to reach a box of replicator parts on the highest level of one of the shelving units. It was a struggle that Harold was losing.

Sighing minutely, Spock walked over to the human who had just retracted his arm with a hiss. "_Fuck!_ Pinched a goddamn nerve!" Harold cursed, and started rubbing his shoulder tenderly.

"If you will allow me, I can be of assistance," Spock stated loudly just as he came up beside his coworker to such a close degree that their shoulders touched. Spock did not appreciate such closeness, especially with someone like Harold, but there was nothing for it. The human was right where he needed to be to reach the items Harold was attempting to procure.

Without another word, Spock reached his thin arms up to the top shelf and grabbed the box. He was far taller than Harold, and therefore, reaching it was quite a simple feat to complete. When he brought it back down, he avoided eye contact with Harold, which was why he didn't notice the way the human was closely examining his black hair, and promptly brought the box up to the front desk where he sat it down as carefully as possible. His satchel containing his PADD was just underneath the surface where he'd sat the box down, so Spock went ahead and grabbed it and slung it over his chest.

Harold approached him slowly, and for a moment, Spock actually thought he would express a verbal form of gratitude, which would have been surprising to say the least. Harold never acknowledged the assistance Spock often provided.

When he opened his mouth to speak though, there were no expressions of gratitude. "How old are you, Spock?" he asked strangely instead.

Spock blinked. Whatever he had expected to hear, that wasn't it. "Is there a logical reason you have suddenly taken interest in my age?" he countered.

Harold sighed in annoyance. "Just answer the question, Spock. You don't look that old, but you never know these days with all those procedures they've got now…"

Spock stiffened. "I assure you that I have not undergone any _procedures _in an attempt to appear a certain age, Mr. Harold. In any case, I do not see why—,"

"I'm _asking_ because I've never noticed until now that you've got white hair. I didn't think Vulcans could get white hair unless they were _really _old…" Harold interrupted nonchalantly.

But Spock, at that moment, was feeling anything but nonchalant. _White _hair? That couldn't be possible. Spock didn't have white hair. His hair was black. Completely black like a Vulcan. He was not even thirty years of age yet. His birthday was not for several months. Harold had to have been mistaken.

"I believe you are mistaken. I do not have white hair. It is black," Spock answered stiffly, and was already shooting glances toward the door. He wanted to leave now. He shouldn't even have aided the human in the first place.

Harold laughed and narrowed his eyes at Spock's hair, which made the Vulcan fairly uncomfortable. He did not like to be inspected. "I'm not saying it's _all_ white, Spock. Hell, I hadn't even noticed it until you brought that box down. It's not like I really look at you when you're here. In fact, I usually make it a goal _not _to, but…there's definitely white hair there," he finished with a smirk.

Spock clenched his hands together, and hated how his entire face began to heat up with…anger? Shock? He wasn't sure, and he wasn't sure he _wanted _to be sure. "You _are _mistaken," he reiterated, though his voice sounded strangely weak.

This time, the smirk fell from Harold's face, and an irritated expression took its place. "I'm not blind, Spock. Don't believe me? Go look for yourself and quit being so goddamn vain about it. You're not the first person to get premature gray hairs, or…in your case, fucking white fucking hair," he started defensively before waving his plump hand dismissively. "But whatever. Believe what you want to believe for all the fucks I give," he announced in exasperation and grabbed the box to bring it closer to him. He'd stopped looking at Spock by now, and had focused in on counting the items in the box in an exaggerated fashion.

Spock was grateful for that, because it meant Harold couldn't see the way his face paled, or the way his eyes narrowed in shocked disbelief. He couldn't see the way Spock's hands fisted, or how quickly he turned on his heels to exit the building. He was grateful the human couldn't see him shoving past people, completely oblivious to them while he dared to believe what Harold had just relayed to him.

When he reached the path that would take him to the subway station, Spock kept walking. Fairmount Place was not as close as the hotel had been, and therefore, really too far of a distance to walk, but Spock couldn't dare imagine riding the subway at that moment. He needed to walk. To think. To process, and…to prepare himself. He knew that as soon as he arrived home, he would immediately go into the bathroom and look in the mirror to discern the truth for himself, and if Spock were being honest, he wasn't sure if he was ready for that truth.

By not riding the subway, Spock was delaying the truth. Delaying whatever revelation that would be staring back at him from that mirror. Harold had called him vain, but that was not the case. Spock was not vain. In fact, vanity was the furthest thing from his mind. The last thing he was concerned about was looking _attractive _in front of other beings. Professional? Yes. But attractive? What had that ever gotten him? But if the allegations regarding his hair color were true…

_Do not worry, Spock. It is likely not true, _the Vulcan thought to himself as he walked quickly down the sidewalk, his hands shoved into his pockets. Harold _had _to be mistaken. Spock was Vulcan, and not even thirty yet. Vulcans did not acquire white or gray hair so early in their life. Not with a two-hundred year or more lifespan, which he _knew _he was capable of living given his counterpart's age. If Harold proved to be correct, then that would mean…

Spock shook his head firmly just as he stepped onto the sidewalk that would take him from Manhattan, and into the Bronx. He would not think about it. He would think about absolutely nothing but the raging pain in his head all the way home. There was no logic in thinking about something that distressed him so when he didn't even know if it was true.

It took Spock an hour to get home, and he was beyond grateful that the turbo-lift was working. Ever since he had repaired it himself a week ago, it had seemed to function adequately. He was grateful because given how lethargic the walk had made him, he honestly couldn't be sure he would make it up the stairs. His legs felt like hunks of metal, and the air in his lungs just couldn't come quick enough. He was actually surprised his nose hadn't started bleeding. True the nosebleeds had become scarce since living with Rennan, but given how high he assumed his blood pressure was at the moment…that was the only thing missing.

Once he was back in the apartment and walking into the living room, he peered around instinctively for any sign of Rennan, but his human roommate had yet to return from his conference. Spock had not expected him to. He wasn't due back until the morning.

Taking a deep breath, Spock walked into the bathroom, switched on the light, and leaned his head in toward the mirror to inspect it.

His breath caught in his throat and he instantly took a step backward as if he had been burned. Harold had been right. He _did _have white hair.

It was not a significant amount, but it was there; scattered about throughout his scalp and plain as day now that Spock had noticed it. They were single strands, and Spock could see how if one wasn't looking hard enough, they would miss it. Single strands were easier to miss than clusters of differing hair colors. Angrily though, Spock wondered how _he_ hadn't noticed it because it was something he should have noticed.

While an acquaintance might not notice something as trivial as white hairs, Spock should have seen. He should have known. He closed his eyes briefly and pondered through his migraine all the different reasons why he wouldn't have noticed this before Harold. Maybe it was because whenever he did look into a mirror, he had done his best to avoid looking at himself as much as possible. He avoided mirrors because if it wasn't the continuing hair loss that upset him, then it was the fact that despite eating more, he _still _remained underweight. It was his weak and fragile appearance in general that disgusted him so. Who would want to look in a mirror, only to have it confirmed that yes, you _are _weak. You _are _fragile. You _look _pathetic.

Given those glaring facts, it seemed quite feasible to Spock that he would have missed something like the shifting of hair color. His observation skills had always left something to be desired. He really shouldn't be that shocked that he had missed it.

That wasn't what was currently upsetting him though. He had grown used to failures like that. No, what was upsetting was that his hair was in fact changing color, and there could only be two reasons why. The first one was something in his genetic makeup. Harold was correct in the sense that humans could sometimes acquire gray hair early in life, and Spock was half human, was he not?

But, as much as he would've liked to blame it on that, Spock couldn't. In the physical sense, Spock's genetics were predominantly Vulcan. They had been engineered that way. His entire conception had been engineered. The chance that the Vulcan scientists—some of the best in the Federation—who had engineered his birth actually missed the gene that would cause hair discoloration was less than two percent in Spock's eyes.

His eyes, which were Amanda's eyes, had been the only exception, and that was something that had been planned. His father had told him so. The rest of his human characteristics such as the appendix, the ability to perspire, the emotional control, and everything else that made him _less _than a Vulcan had all been things that the scientists could do nothing about. After all, half of Spock's genes came from Amanda, did they not? One could not eliminate them all.

But a mutated gene capable of altering hair color prematurely? That gene was something a Vulcan geneticist could isolate easily, and remove. Spock knew enough about genetics to assume such a thing, and he could not imagine such a mutation being left in his own genetic code.

Plus, there was the other fact that most people acquired _gray _hair. Not white.

Wanting to be sure, Spock quickly reached up and plucked a discolored strand from his head to inspect it. As he had thought, it wasn't gray. It was white. He knew how close those two colors could appear, but Spock knew the distinction between grey and white, and the strand in his hand was definitely white.

The other reasoning, which was really a litany of reasons, was the reason he was becoming so distraught. If his discolored hair wasn't a product of genetics, then that meant something _else _was causing it, and he had a strong suspicion that it was the same _something else _that had already caused him to lose control over the rest of his body while the months had passed by.

Harold had incorrectly assumed that his distress and disbelief had come from a place of vanity, but that was not true. Spock's distress had been and was in response to the fact that once again, he had lost control over another aspect of his body. The pain, disappointment, and ugliness he constantly harbored within himself had managed to once again manifest in a physical way. It was not enough that he felt these things on a constant basis. It was not enough that he had had to give up everything that mattered to him in his life. It was not enough that the one person he had come to care about more than himself probably didn't even remember his face.

The fragile, withered, gaunt, and now white-haired _thing _looking back at him from the mirror confirmed to Spock that nothing he felt, nothing he _did_, would _ever _be enough until everyone around him could see what he truly was. Nothing but a body that housed weakness and worthlessness.

_Vulcan repression cannot hide who you really are…_

_You are a weak being, Spock…_

Already feeling overwhelmed by his migraine and the revelation of what he was destined to become, the sound of S'teth's voice as it filtered across Spock's memory made him snap. He could not hear that voice. For one moment in his life, Spock wanted to be free of that voice!

Letting out a raged cry, Spock swung his fist into the mirror, and relished how as the glass shattered and rained down on the floor and counter, the creature that had been staring back at him had shattered with it. There was a pain coming from the hand that he'd used to destroy the mirror, but it mattered not to Spock as he sank down to the floor, his back sliding back against the wall, and his face staring blankly ahead of him. At least the newfound pain helped to stomp out S'teth's voice as it attempted to whisper and hiss into his ear.

He should get back up and tend to the mess he'd just made before Rennan came home. His roommate would likely be upset that Spock had taken out his frustrations on their mirror, and Spock knew he would have to pay to replace it, but he could not bring himself to move. He just wanted to sit there, and relish in the fact that at least with all the glass scattered around him, it could not be on the wall to show him the glaring truths about himself. Truths that Spock would like to be able to forget—just for one night—even existed.

Plus, he was just so tired, and the floor was comfortable. He belonged on the floor anyway. What would be more fitting than to spend a little time down upon it.

**((oOo))**

Spock hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until rough hands shaking him by the shoulders woke him up.

"Spock! The hell, man!" a familiar voice yelled worriedly from somewhere in front of him.

Blearily, Spock opened his eyes and tried to focus in on the muscular, dark-haired man in front of him donning an expression of worry and panic. A moment later, he realized it was Rennan, and as a result, instantly tried to push himself off the floor.

"Hey, take it easy! Let me help you," Rennan warned and moved to help shoulder Spock who was trying desperately to get his aching limbs to function and bring him off the messy, glass ridden floor. He grunted from the effort it took, but eventually managed to make it into a standing position. He opened his mouth to speak, but was still too disoriented. Oddly enough though, the migraine was gone.

"Here, don't speak. Just…let's get into the kitchen. I need to look at your hand, and this room is too fucked to do that," Rennan stated in a determined voice, and helped push Spock out into the hallway toward the kitchen. On the way there, the Vulcan glanced down at his hand and noted the dried green blood there, and the fact that it was stinging slightly. He hoped the cut wasn't deep. He did not wish to go to a hospital. The last time he'd been to one had not been a favorable experience.

"Sit here. I'm going to get the first aid kit," Rennan instructed just as he let Spock fall into a chair at the dining table. Spock didn't give a verbal answer, but was more than content to do as he'd been told. He was still very tired, and despite his migraine being gone, his hand was starting to hurt more.

When Rennan came back, Spock had let his head fall forward in an attempt to sleep again. He was still so very tired. "Hey, wake up, Spock. I need to doctor this. You'd better hope this doesn't need medical attention because that means this day just got a lot longer. What the fuck happened anyway?" his roommate asked, and Spock braced himself for the familiar anger or irritation he usually felt from people when he did something that inconvenienced them. Breaking a mirror, or bleeding all over himself certainly would constitute viable reasons for anger and irritation. People did not like dealing with those things, and Spock felt shame that Rennan was having to.

However…the anger never came. All Spock could feel was an overwhelming sense of concern.

For a moment, Rennan almost felt like Jim used to feel.

The Vulcan was so wrapped up in his musings about Jim that he didn't notice Rennan's expression change minutely, as if something interesting had just happened and had taken his attention. It only lasted a moment though. Pretty soon, the human was back to questioning him again.

"Spock. What happened? Did…did someone attack you?" Rennan chanced warily at Spock's prolonged silence.

Instantly Spock was shaking his head. No one had attacked him. Why would Rennan think that? But then again, to anyone walking into the bathroom and seeing the mess Spock had made, the Vulcan could see how one might come to that conclusion.

Rennan frowned. "Well, then what happened? I get home this morning, walk into the bathroom to take a piss, and there you are, sprawled out on the floor, your hand all fucked up, and fucking glass everywhere which I'm assuming _used _to be our mirror. Something obviously happened," he questioned.

Spock wasn't sure how to answer. He hadn't thought this far ahead when he'd broken the mirror. He'd merely wanted S'teth's voice out of his head. He couldn't stand hearing him go on and on about how he was nothing. He hadn't been thinking about this conversation either when he'd relished in seeing the broken shards on the floor.

"Silent treatment, huh? You know…you're good at that," Rennan commented softly and without a hint of malice as he brought Spock's hand up to inspect it.

Spock winced in pain, and prepared himself for an influx of emotions. After all…Rennan had never touched before like this. But the powerful influx never came. There was the low hum of emotion, but nothing uncomfortable or painful. In fact, Spock found Rennan's touch strangely soothing.

"Well, I don't think it's a very deep cut. I mean, it's stopped bleeding. I think it's just superficial," Rennan went on, his eyes focused in on Spock's hand as he cleaned it and proceeded to bandage it. "Sorry, I don't really have a dermal regenerator here," he went on apologetically.

Spock watched, fascinated at Rennan's depth of concern.

"Are you not…angry?" Spock managed weakly, because he had not expected Rennan to be this calm about the fact that Spock had just broken his mirror, and was now forcing him to act as a medical doctor to injuries Spock had bestowed upon himself.

Rennan looked up at that and frowned. "Angry? No. I'm just worried. If you did that yourself, then something had to have upset you, and you're not a person I would peg for being _easily _upset," he surmised knowingly, and sat down in the chair on the other side of the two-person table once Spock's hand had been tended.

Spock looked away, embarrassed, and brought his hands, one injured, underneath the table. When he had committed the act of breaking the mirror, he had felt it was the right thing to do. Now though, he was beginning to feel shame about it.

"Look, Spock," Rennan began again, and leaned forward slightly. "I know you don't like to talk about things. Especially when they're things from your past, but when it gets to a point where you start physically reacting to whatever it is that's upsetting you? You need to know that—,"

"I do not require therapy, Rennan," Spock cut him off a bit harshly, for surely that was what the human was going to recommend. "I…do not need therapy," he added in a softer tone, and oddly, he wondered just who he was trying to convince of that fact. Himself? Or Rennan.

Rennan's frown deepened. "I wasn't going to suggest a therapist, Spock," he corrected. "Shit, most of them aren't worth the deductible it takes to see them, anyway. I was going to tell you that you can talk to me. If something is upsetting you…Well…" Rennan paused and ran a hand through his dark hair. Spock errantly noted that there had once been a time that his hair had been that dark, and free of unwanted colors.

Now though…

"I just think that it would be good for you talk to me about it, and not because I'm worried for my shit. You're my roommate, but I also consider you a friend. And when my friends are hurting, I'm hurting too," Rennan finally finished, and Spock felt a radiance of warmth float into him from the other man. A warmth that felt strangely good as it brushed up against his cold mind. He felt acceptance from Rennan, and a want to help. To assist. To listen.

"Did something happen at work last night? I know you told me earlier this week that you had to stay for Inventory this weekend," Rennan probed.

Spock looked away. He knew he should deny everything. He knew he should find some other excuse to give that would not lead Rennan to suspecting anything more than a momentary lapse in control. He _knew _he should lie, but he found that he could not. Spock felt a horrible, guilty feeling swell up within him at the mere thought of lying. Would it be so horrible to share with Rennan? He was obviously more than willing to listen. He had said so. Spock could feel it, even. Would that be so bad? Would it make Spock feel better? So many people had told him that in the past, had they not?

_You should talk about what's bothering you…you might feel better. _

People had told him that countless times, and he had never believed them. But…could there be merit in those words now? Rennan was not Jim. Rennan did not need to be protected from Spock's wrongdoings. Rennan would not suffer for them as Jim would have undoubtedly done had he known the truth.

Almost timidly, Spock spared a look into Rennan's eyes to determine if his expression was as sincere as his words. His promise of comfort. But it didn't matter because what if Rennan told someone? All the comfort in the world wouldn't matter if Rennan told someone.

Rennan smiled at him. "It's okay, Spock. I'm here to listen. You don't have to keep things to yourself all the time. Are you worried about me blabbing my mouth or something?

Spock blinked, and of course, that seemed to be answer enough for Rennan. "I haven't told anyone your name, have I? Have I ever done something to make you mistrust me?" Rennan asked softly in an attempt to convince Spock to just be open with him. That nothing bad would come of it.

"…No," Spock answered, his voice sounding strange. Rennan hadn't ever done anything to make Spock mistrust him, and just thinking about that made Spock feel even more guilty for trying to hold on to his secret. It was not fair to subject Rennan to his emotional outbursts when the human didn't even know the reasoning for it.

_Jim did not know either, and yet you were content to keep your secret,_ a voice within Spock said. A voice that was telling him to not trust Rennan. That he should have trusted Jim before Rennan.

And yet…Spock wanted so much to trust someone. Jim was not here. That chance had come and gone. Rennan was the one here in front of him. The one who had just picked up off the floor where he'd been lying in his own filth. Rennan had been the one to bandage his hand and not get angry at him.

In fact, the more he sat there thinking about it, the more Spock wanted it. Staring into Rennan's dark eyes, Spock suddenly wanted nothing more than to tell someone that yes…something was hurting him. That he hurt inside, and please, if someone would just _know _that fact, then maybe life would be easier because the burden of _knowing _would be lighter. He would not have to fight his demons on his own.

"You don't have to talk, Spock. I understand completely, but know that my door is always open," Rennan reaffirmed at Spock's reluctance to speak and readied himself to move out of the chair.

Spock felt his heart lurch. Someone else had offered an open door as well. Dr. McCoy. The only difference now was that this time, Spock wanted to walk right through it. It felt like the right thing to do.

"I will tell you a _'story'_, Rennan," Spock spoke in barely a whisper, but Rennan heard him clearly enough. The human gave him a neutral look and relaxed back into his seat, his expression thoughtful and waiting.

Spock sighed tiredly, and rubbed at his eyes with his uninjured hand. Rennan knew what he meant by the term _story_, because it was term the human had often used when they spoke about Spock's past. He felt it was only fitting now since he was actually going to talk about it.

"I committed an act during my time as a Commander in Starfleet. An act that I am ashamed of," Spock went on, his eyes focusing in on the hands in his lap. He couldn't look Rennan in the eyes for this.

"We all commit shameful acts, Spock," Rennan commented softly.

"Yes, but this act is considerably different, and I committed it all to acquire something that I should have been able to acquire as my father's son. The son of a diplomat," Spock corrected, because he wanted Rennan to know. To really know that he was not talking about a common deed that bore little weight over other people. He wanted Rennan to grasp without knowing the full details that what he did was something that could never be taken back.

"Okay. Like what?" Rennan furthered.

Spock frowned. He suddenly not sure he wanted to go into this much detail. What if this was a mistake? "I do not wish to discuss it. It is a private matter. I should not have said anything," he stated and made to get up, but Rennan was already up, and softly pushing him back down. Spock thought it strange that he did not fight this push despite the softness behind it.

"Wait, Spock. It obviously upsets you enough that you want to share it with me. So, tell me what it is. Maybe I can help you?" Rennan assured him in a low, gentle tone, and errantly Spock felt a pull of something in his head; a pull followed by a push, but it had happened so quickly that he wasn't even sure he'd felt anything. All Spock was sure about was that Rennan had just promised him help and comfort. Both were things he wanted, right?

"I exchanged…" Spock started hoarsely, and he really could not believe he was about to admit this, but he just could not bring himself to stop. The fear of stopping outweighed the fear of silencing himself. "_Sexual_ favors to gain the influence of a prominent figure in a diplomatic mission."

There. He'd said it. It was out in the open. At least he had been careful to leave out specific names and details. Things that could hurt people. Now all that was left was Rennan's reaction. Spock tensed for the inevitable anger or disgust that would soon follow.

Only, it never came. Rennan's emotions remained open, warm, and free of hostility. Such a reaction was baffling to the Vulcan.

"Why?" the human asked him, and it wasn't asked in a disgusted way, or a shocked way. It had been phrased simply and gently. _Why? Why did you feel the need to do that? Help me understand, _was how Spock had translated Rennan's _'why?'_.

Spock had been honest so far. He saw no reason to cease that endeavor now. "Because I sought to protect someone dear to me from unjust consequences." While Spock might feel the urge to be honest, he would leave Jim's name out of it. Jim had nothing to do with Spock's disgusting acts, and he did not wish to taint that name by associating them together.

"You did this for a friend?" Rennan asked in awe.

"My distaste for sexual acts with a being I did not care for paled in comparison to the suffering that my cap—my _friend—_would endure should I not have gone through with this act," Spock sought to clarify. He wanted Rennan to know that he did not find sex with the Priest pleasing or amicable, but that he had consented because Jim's future had been more important. It was _still _more important.

Rennan looked away briefly before giving Spock his attention again. "Does…does this friend know? Does he know what you did for him?"

Spock stiffened at that and gave Rennan a sharp look. "No. He does not, and he will _never _know. I insist upon this," he stated firmly, and was suddenly glad he hadn't given Jim's name.

Rennan leaned back submissively. "Hey, it's okay, Spock. I don't even know your friend's name, and even if I did…I wouldn't tell him. I already told you, whatever you say to me _stays _with me," he assured Spock, and the Vulcan couldn't help but feel the sincerity behind the human's words.

"But…I do want to know something if you would tell me," Rennan started thoughtfully, "why didn't you tell him?"

Spock shut his eyes briefly as shame filtered through him. The shame at Jim's expression should he ever find out what Spock did. How low he had sank himself. "Because it is not something he would ever approve of." It was stated so quietly that for a moment, Spock was sure Rennan had not heard him. But when he looked up and saw Rennan nodding thoughtfully, he knew his words had been taken in and processed.

For a long moment, Rennan didn't say anything, and Spock wondered if he would. Finally however, the human spoke. "Would you do it over again?"

Spock thought he should find such a question odd. For one thing, doing it over again had nothing to do with the original reason Rennan had wanted Spock to share with him in the first place. It was also not a question Spock was particularly eager to ask himself. He did find the prospect of reminding himself what he was capable of a pleasant endeavor.

However, the wariness that Spock should have felt just wasn't there. The emotional strength to end the line of questioning ceased to exist.

Which was why after a lengthy pause, Spock answered him. And despite the small voice that told him to lie; that told him to tell Rennan that, '_no, I would not do it again because look at what I have become. Look at where it has led me?..._

He was completely honest instead.

"Despite where I have arrived in this juncture of my life, if I were force—," Spock shook his head vigorously on that word. He was not _forced _into anything; therefore, it had no place in this discussion. "If I were given the option to go through it again, then…"

"Yeah?" Rennan furthered almost eagerly. Spock did not pick up on that eagerness. He was too lost in his own thoughts.

"Yes," he decided on and knew it to be true. "Yes, I would go through it again. I…_care_ about my…" Spock had to pause again as he thought about Jim; about what they had once been, and about Jim's last words to him. "I _care_ about my friend too much to not endure it again," Spock settled for, and was surprised and a bit scared at how much he had really meant those words.

For a long moment, they both sat in silence. Spock wondered what Rennan was thinking. He wondered if the human's opinion of him might change now that he knew the reason why Spock had become the former shell of himself. Or, more accurately, why Spock had finally started to show his true colors.

He waited fearfully for the moment when Rennan would state his distaste with Spock, and ask him to move out. That what they had? It would not work out after all.

But the moment never came. What came instead shocked the Vulcan.

"You were brave to tell me, Spock. And…I'm glad you did. Know that I won't tell anyone," Rennan reassured him, and Spock felt his sincerity. He was being truthful, and that was something Spock wished to sigh in relief about, but didn't.

"I…thank you for listening, Rennan. It was not something you were obligated to do, and I would never wish to burden you with my past deeds," Spock said meekly, and hated how weak he sounded right now. Like someone who had just bared their soul and could break down at any moment. He wished to appear strong in front of Rennan, not weak. Not child-like.

Rennan leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. Spock trailed his eyes from the arm all the way into the dark eyes that owned it. "I asked you, remember? Don't ever feel like you're burdening me. I do want to know the things that cause you pain," he stated firmly, and Spock felt that firmness; that reassurance.

When the human let go, he sat back and continued to look at Spock as if searching for something.

Spock felt like squirming under the gaze, but the urge to do so had gone just as quickly as it had arrived.

"You're a good friend, Spock," Rennan commented and placed his hands behind his head. It was a gesture that most humans completed when they were relaxed, or contemplative. Spock wasn't sure what Rennan meant by performing the gesture now. Something told him not to worry about it either.

"Pardon?" Spock asked instead.

Rennan brought his hands back down and leaned forward, his eyes oddly intense. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to reach out and touch Spock, but refrained from doing so. "You're a good friend to do what you did. Most people don't have friends like that. Most people don't know how to show that they care about someone, but you do…"

Spock looked down and tried to process that statement. There was something about it. Something…not right, but the Vulcan couldn't hold his thoughts together enough to discern what it was. He felt oddly scatterbrained. He felt…_compelled_ to agree and to be grateful that Rennan thought of him as a good friend. He had always wanted to be a good friend. And finally…someone thought he had been.

"I always endeavor to be a good friend," Spock answered quietly.

"I'm starting to see that," Rennan answered meaningfully, stretched, and rose from his chair. "Come on, Spock. Let me fix you breakfast. We'll clean the bathroom later."

There was a sense that other things would come later to, but again, Spock was at a loss to really pin point any of those thoughts or premonitions. At the moment, all he wanted to do was follow Rennan's lead. Rennan had just listened to his pathetic story and had not lashed out at him about it. Had not judged him. Had called him a good friend, even, and had praised his disgusting deed.

Rennan understood him. He understood his intentions, and he seemed to feel that Spock had only been trying to be a 'good' friend and protect Jim from persecution by the powers that had the power to take him out. Maybe Rennan even cared about him. And Spock was at a point in his life where he wanted to be cared about, despite what such a thing could possibly mean.

**The chapter title comes from the song, "Good Enough" by Evanescence, and can really fit for the next chapter coming up as well. **

**Okay, as I said…the next two chapters are going to be dark. So…just throwing that out there. The darkest parts in this story are about to happen in the next two chapters before arc 3. You would not believe the music I've been to listening to in order to get into character for what's coming up. A couple of notes on some stuff I brought up? The white hair, in case anyone is confused what that's caused from? It's stress, and not just mental stress, but physical as well, and it's from a multitude of issues that will come out. That's why Spock is upset about it, because he sees that instead of getting stronger, he's just getting weaker. **

**As for how Spock was conceived? Again, that's not very explored in canon, and I see some people go with the genetic engineering thing, so I did that here. I don't see Spock's birth happening without some help. Vulcans are too different from humans. If there are any other questions, please feel free to drop me a line! **

**Also, I hope Rennan's intentions are starting to become clear. And, just so we're clear? Rennan's words at the end of this? How he is implying that Spock did the right thing for his friend? I don't support that at all. You should never hurt yourself to show you care for someone, but Rennan is thinking about his own motivations right now. **

**I'd love to hear your thoughts about this story! Please drop a line if you have time. If you don't? Thank you for reading anyway! **


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